“We have rumors, too, by grapevine telegraph,” April responded, referring to a name given to the mysterious means of communication that seemed to exist among the negroes and the poorer classes of whites. “But I’m not afraid that ‘Marse Robert’ will be beaten. He’s more than a match for your old Grant!” “He’s not my Grant,” Tracy protested. “But, whatever happens, there’s some grand fighting ahead of us.” “Why, Val Tracy,” cried Harriot, as she burst upon the scene. “Where did you come from? I thought you’d given us up for good.” “Bad pennies are not so easily gotten rid of,” he laughed, and taking one of her hands he bent down as if to kiss it, but instead took a generous bite of the cake it held. “Faith, ’tis good I’m here to help save a noble digestion.” “Huh!” grunted Harriot, “a little bit of cake like that wouldn’t hurt me. I could eat three times that much—if I could get it. But Aunt Decent says we’re poor now and I’ll have to stop hooking cake. You can have this,” she went on, holding out the piece Tracy had bitten, “and if you’ll hold my other slice I’ll go back and get more. I reckon Aunt Decent isn’t expecting me just now.” Shortly after this Mrs. May came out to welcome the new Captain and to congratulate him upon his promotion. And the conversation became centered upon matters of general utility. Val, although uncertain, thought he might stay for perhaps a day or two and the women immediately began planning for the patching of his clothes and shirts. They were all glad to see him. He brought them news of the outside world, gossip of the camps, messages from friends and relatives, and in a little while they were all sitting about him, busy with their needles while he talked of the things nearest all their hearts and answered the many questions they put to him. Presently, in the midst of their talk, Aunt Dilsey’s Sam came shuffling around the corner of the house and stopped before them. He took off his hat and drew nearer, waiting till Mrs. May should recognize his presence. “Is there something you want, Sam?” she asked, in a pause in the conversation. “Yes, Ol’ Miss,” he said, hesitatingly. “I’ve been thinkin’ a mighty lot lately since you-all has bought we-all, and, please’m, I’d be ’bliged if you-all would sell me to that Macon man, jes’ as quick as eveh you can.” “Sell you, Sam?” exclaimed Mrs. May in great surprise. “Sell you—and keep Aunt Dilsey?” “Yes’m, that’s what I’m thinkin’,” the boy replied, and there was in his manner a not quite understandable hint of suppressed excitement. “You see, Ol’ Miss, that Macon man he ain’t got no manneh of use for my gran’mam nohow; but he’s mighty ready to give a good price fo’ Sam. Please, Ol’ Miss, sell me, and sell me quick.” The request was a strange one, and Mrs. May, used to dealing with these simple people, expressed no further surprise at it, but sought the reasons behind it. “Why have you decided that you want to be sold?” she asked kindly.