“What I want to say is, that Mrs. Vernon wishes to make Minerva love out doors as well as you do, and she is going to teach her some of the things that a country-bred man like you knows by heart. How to tell an oak from a maple at twilight.” “Oh, that kind has been here before. The Wheelocks, that had this house last year, went out in the woods with these here glasses and they brought things up close with them. They never cared for nature unless they had their glasses.” “James, I’m afraid it is apt to degenerate into something like that, but—James, if I tell you something, will you respect my confidence?” “Will you please say that in different words?” I thought a moment while I chose simpler words. “Will you say nothing to Minerva, if I tell you something?” “Oh, sure.” “Well, this concert and these nature lessons are solely for the purpose of keeping Minerva’s mind off herself and the city. She wants to go back to New York, and we want her to stay here all summer, and—” I explained it all to him, and the fellow seemed to enter right into the spirit of the thing, and assured me that he would do all he could to help. “Where do you live?” “Down in the valley a bit. When shall I show up in the morning?” “The earlier, the better. I want you and Minerva to begin to practise for the concert right away. Do you sing by note.” “Yes, sir.” “Well, have you any book of negro melodies.” “No, sir. Wouldn’t do me much good, sir, as I can’t read music.” “Oh, I thought you said you sang by note.” “Yes, sir. Note by note, right along. I have a good ear, but I can’t read music.” “Very well, James. Come in the morning prepared to sing note by note, by ear, anything you can remember. Do you know ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot?’” “Indeed I do. Oh, I know all the jubilee songs, and all the rag-time songs, and I guess we can fill up a couple of hours singin’ in the old Congregational Church.” He chuckled. “What is it, James?” “Why, I was thinkin’ that here the white folks sing down there every Sunday in the church, and if I care to go an’ hear them it don’t cost me a cent, but if Minerva and me sing there in that same church, the white folk’ll have to pay money to hear us. ‘Tain’t gen’elly that way.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER IX A NAKED SCUTTERER.