“Well, I haven't made up my mind on that score,” the other remarked. “Up to the time he left here he seemed really harmless enough, but we don't know what may have taken place since then between him and Johnson. Funny we didn't think of the danger of sticking match to tinder like that. I admit I was in favor of sending him. Miss Helen was so pleased over it, too. I met her the other day at the post-office and she was telling me, with absolute delight, that Pete was doing well over there, working like an old-time cornfield darky, and behaving himself. Now, I suppose, she will be terribly upset.” Carson sighed. “We blame the mountain people, in times of excitement, for acting rashly, and yet right here in this quiet town half the citizens have already made up their minds that Pete committed the crime. Think of it, Garner!” “Well, you see, it's pretty hard to imagine who _else_ did it,” Garner declared. “I don't agree with you,” disputed Carson, warmly; “when there are half a dozen negroes who were whipped just as Pete was and who have horrible characters. There's Sam Dudlow, the worst negro I ever saw, an ex-convict, and as full of devilment as an egg is of meat. I saw his scowling face the next day after he was whipped, and I never want to see it again. I'd hate to meet him in the dark, unarmed. He wasn't making open threats, as Pete was, but I'll bet he would have handled Johnson or Willis roughly if he had met either of them alone and got the advantage.” “Well, we are not trying the case,” Garner said, dryly; “if we are, I don't know where the fees are to come from. Getting money out of an imaginary case is too much like a lawyer's first year under the shadow of his shingle.” CHAPTER XI. [Illustration: 9103] IMMEDIATELY on parting with Carson, Helen went down to Linda's cottage. Lewis was leaning over the little, low fence talking to a negro, who walked on as she drew near. “Where is Mam' Linda?” she asked, guardedly. “In de house, missy,” Lewis answered, pulling off his old slouch hat and wadding it tightly in his fingers. “She 'ain't heard nothin' yit. Jim was des tellin' me er whole string er talk folks was havin' down on de street; but I told 'im not to let 'er hear it. Oh, missy, it gwine ter kill 'er. She cayn't stan' it. Des no longer 'n las' night she was settin' in dat do' talkin' 'bout how happy she was to hear Pete was doin' so well over on Marse Carson's place. She said she never would forget young marster's kindness to er old nigger'oman, en now”--the old man spread out his hands in apathetic gesture before him--“now you see what it come to!” “But nothing serious has really happened to Pete yet,” Helen had started to say, when the old man stopped her. “Hush, honey, she comin'!”