"Oh, I'm all right; I don't mean to do any thing diabolical, I'm too happy for that; give me another cigar, mine are locked up in my bag." He pulled himself together as he spoke, and laughed in a way so careless and natural that Moreton felt a sense of disappointment at having inwardly to acknowledge himself baffled, if not mistaken. They smoked and talked until late, enjoying the lulling coolness of the night air coming in at the open windows. Reynolds was exceedingly cheerful, and when they separated for the night he said: "If you have as sweet dreams as I expect to indulge in to-night, tell me in the morning, will you? Good night." But Moreton, who slept lightly, awoke now and then, and heard him walking to and fro all the rest of the night. CHAPTER XII. A BIT OF LOVE MAKING. The party at General DeKay's broke up gradually, some of the sportsmen going away on the morning of the day following the quail shoot, the rest taking their departure in groups or singly, as business necessitated or a sense of propriety dictated. At last the Nobles, the Beresfords, Miss Crabb, Reynolds and Moreton were the favored remnant, lingering at the old plantation to enjoy, as long as possible, the sweets of its almost arcadian life. Notwithstanding the great change wrought by the war, the DeKays had been able to hold on to a picturesque residuum of their former wealth and to keep up a fair show of that hospitality which had once been almost unlimited. The guests of the mansion felt the perfect freedom given them, and so the days went by without a circumstance to hinder their enjoyment of every moment. Uncle Mono was a source of great amusement to every body; his banjo, his songs, his stories, his peculiar philosophy and that individuality of thought and expression, so often exhibited by old negroes, making him especially interesting to Moreton and Miss Crabb. His life had been so saturated with slavery's influences that freedom, coming to him after he had passed the meridian of life, had not been able to change him much. Along with his other gifts, Uncle Mono was a fortune-teller whose fame held the admiration and the awe of all the negroes at highest strain. He could tell when it was going to rain and when the wind was going to change as well as he could predict the kind of sweetheart the future would bring to the inquiring youth or maiden. In fact he was the seventh son of a seventh son, and not a drop of white-man's blood ran in his veins. "I's pyo' blood dahky f'om away back," he was fond of saying. "None yo' yaller niggah 'bout me. Nuffin' I 'spises mo' 'n one o' dese yer no' 'count clay-faced merlatters. Steal! Dey des steal de sole of 'm yo' shoes! No sah, I's pyo' blood dahky."