The tone of his voice was as smooth as velvet, but his words carried the sting of an imputation, and Uncle Plato felt it and resented it. "Yes, suh,--an' I wuz des ez free twenty year ago ez you all will ever be. My marster has been good ter me fum de work go. I ain't stayin' wid 'im bekaze he got money. Ef him an' Miss Sa'ah di'n'a have a dollar in de worl', an no way ter git it, I'd work my arms off fer 'm. An' ef I 'fused ter do it, my wife'd quit me, an' my chillun wouldn't look at me. But I'll tell you what I'll do: when my marster tu'ns his back on me I'll tu'n my back on him." "I'm really sorry that you persist in making this question a personal one when it affects all the negroes now living and millions yet to be born," said Mr. Hotchkiss. "Well, suh, le's look at it dat away," Uncle Plato insisted. "Spoz'n you ban' tergedder like dis, an' try ter tu'n de white folks ag'in you, an' dey see what you up ter, an' tu'n der backs, den what you gwine ter do? You got ter live here an' you got ter make yo' livin' here. Is you gwine ter cripple de cow dat gives de cream?" Uncle Plato paused and looked around. He saw at once that he was in a hopeless minority, and so he reached for his hat. "I'm mighty glad ter know you, suh," he said to Mr. Hotchkiss, with a bow that Chesterfield might have envied, "but I'll hatter bid you good-night." With that, he went out, followed by Wiley Millirons and Walthall's Jake, much to the relief of the Rev. Jeremiah, who proceeded to denounce "white folks' niggers," and to utter some very violent threats. Then, in no long time, the Union League was organised. Those in the closet failed to hear the words that constituted the ceremony of initiation. Only low mutterings came to their ears. But the ceremony consisted of a lot of mummery well calculated to impress the simple-minded negroes. After a time the meeting adjourned, the solitary candle was blown out, and the last negro departed. Gabriel waited until all sounds had died away, and then, with a brief good-night to Tasma Tid, he opened the closet door, slipped out, and was soon on his way home. But before he was out of the dark grove, some one went flitting by him--in fact, he thought he saw two figures dimly outlined in the darkness; yet he was not sure--and presently he thought he heard a mocking laugh, which sounded very much as if it had issued from the lips of Nan Dorrington. But he was not sure that he heard the laugh, and how, he asked himself, could he imagine that it was Nan Dorrington's even if he had heard it? He told himself confidentially, the news to go no further, that he was a drivelling idiot.