“Oh, I heard him the other day, when he rode up after you to go somewhere. I was in the loft at the barn fixing my pigeon-box and heard him talking to you down at the fence. Just as he started off he said, 'Captain, your men will wait for you at the usual place. They won't stir without your commands.'” Hoag's head moved again; his eyes swept on to the ceiling; there was a pause; his wit seemed sluggish. “Are you really a captain, Daddy?” Jack raised himself on his elbow and leaned over his father's face, “No; lie down and go to sleep,” Hoag said, sternly. “Some people call me that just out of--out of respect, just as a sort o' nickname. The war is over; thar ain't no real captains now.” “I think I know why they call you that.” Jack's delicate face was warm with pride, and his young voice was full and round. “It is because you are the bravest an' richest and best one. That's why Mr. Trawley said they wouldn't stir till you told them. I asked Grandma about it, and she looked so funny and acted so queer! She wouldn't say anything to _me_, but she went straight to Aunt Dilly, and they talked a long time, and Grandma looked like she was bothered. That was the night the White Caps rode along the road after that runaway negro. I saw Grandma watching from the window. She thought I was asleep, but I got up and looked out of the other window and she didn't know it. Oh, they looked awful in their long, white things. Aunt Dilly was down in the yard, and she told Grandma that God was going to have revenge, because the Bible said so. She said Cato had left his cabin and was hiding in the woods for fear they might get _him_. She said Cato was a good nigger, and that it was a sin to scare him and all the rest like that. Daddy, what _are_ the White Caps? Where do they come from?” “Oh, from roundabout in the mountains!” Hoag returned, uneasily. “Now go to sleep. You are nervous; you are shaking all over; those men won't hurt you.” “But they _do_ get white folks sometimes, and take them out and whip them,” Jack said, tremulously. “Aunt Dilly said one day to Cato that they begun on the blacks, but they had sunk so low that they were after their own race now. What would we do if they was to come here after--” The little voice trailed away on the still air, and glancing at the boy's face Hoag saw that the pretty, sensitive lips were quivering. “After who?” he asked, curious in spite of his caution. “After Henry,” Jack gulped. “They might, you know, to whip him for not working. They did whip a poor white man last summer because he let his wife and children go hungry. Daddy, if they was--really _was_ to ride up here and call Henry out, would you shoot them? What would be the use, when there are so many and every one has a gun?” “They--they are not coming after Henry.” Hoag was at the end of his resources. “Git all that rubbish out o' your head an' go to sleep!”