“Poor old chap,” Garner mused, as he leaned forward and looked at the threadbare toes of his slippers, “if he weathers this storm he'll make a man right--if not, he'll go down with the great majority, the motley throng meant for God only knows what purpose.” CHAPTER VI. [Illustration: 9061] HE Warren homestead was in a turmoil of excitement over Helen's return. The ex-slaves of the family for miles around had assembled to celebrate the occasion in quite the ante-bellum fashion. The men and grown boys sat about the front lawn and on the steps of the long veranda and talked of the day Helen was born, of her childhood, of her beauty and numerous conquests, away from them, and of the bare possibility of her deigning to accept the hand of some one of her powerful and wealthy suitors. In her own chamber, a great square room with many windows, Helen, tall, graceful, with light-brown eyes and almost golden hair, was receiving the women and girls. She had brought a present suitable for each of them, as they knew she would, and the general rejoicing was equal to that of an old-time Georgia Christmas. “You are all here,” Helen smiled, as she looked about the room, “except Mam' Linda. Is she not well?” “Yessum, she's well as common,” Jennie, a yellow house-maid, said, “as well as she been since Pete had dat scrimmage wid de White Caps. Missie, you gwine notice er gre't change in Mam' Lindy. Since dat turrible night, while she seem strong in de body, she looks powerful weak in de face en sperit. Unc' Lewis is worried about 'er. She des set in er cottage do' en rock back an' fo'th all day long. You done heard 'bout dat lambastin', 'ain't you, Missie?” “Yes, my father wrote me about it,” Helen replied, an expression of sympathetic pain on her well-featured face, “but he didn't tell me that mammy was taking it so hard.” “He was tryin' ter keep you fum worryin',” Jennie said, observantly. “Marster knowed how much sto' you set by yo' old mammy. He was de maddest man you ever laid eyes on dat night, but he couldn't do nothin', fer it was all over, en dem white trash done skedaddle back whar dey come fum.”. “And was Pete so much to blame?” Helen asked, her voice shaking. “Blame fer de company he been keepin', Missie--dat's all; but what you gwine ter do wid er strappin' young nigger growin' up? It des like it was in de old day fo' de war. De niggers had to have deir places ter meet an' cut up shines. Dey been done too much of it at Ike Bowen's. De white folks dat lived round dar couldn't sleep at night. It was one long shindig or a fist-cuff scrap fum supper till daylight.” “Well, I wish Mam' Linda would come to see me,” Helen said. “I'm anxious about her. If she isn't here soon I'll go to her.” “She's comin' right on, Missie,” another negro girl said, “but she tol' Unc' Lewis she was gwine ter wait till we all cleared out. She say you her baby, en she ain't gwine ter be bothered wid so many, when she see you de fust time after so long.”