Olive spent a few quiet hours at home along with Diana, and then took supper in company with Napoleon Pompey, whose manners at table were now all that could be desired. Indeed, the negro in this connection easily takes a higher polish than might be expected: he prides himself on being punctilious in all the forms and phrases of the best white society he has ever come in contact with, and being highly imitative, is quickly trained. Given a white boy and a black boy of similar ages and depths of ignorance, the black one will more quickly tame into a seemingly quiet human being, while very frequently the same vanity which prompts a negro to be over-zealous in the use of “please” and “thank you” will cause the white boy to act roughly and assert his independence by extravagances of rude behaviour. Napoleon Pompey was magnificently polite to “Mis’ Ollie,” whom he adored, and for whom he was ready even to work: that is to make the greatest sacrifice possible to a negro lad of twelve. He never forgot to carry in wood for her or to pick up chips in generous quantity for the lighting of the afternoon fire, and he collected abundance of corn-cobs and had them duly dried in the sun ready at her hand in case she was in sudden want of a hot fire. When working for Ezra, Napoleon Pompey reverted to his natural black standard of diligence and shirked as much as he possibly could, lying down in fence-corners to sleep like a shiny black lizard when he should have been stripping corn, but he never shirked “Mis’ Ollie’s” work. She didn’t scold the lad, but ruled him by her gentleness and her beauty, and he fell into meekest subjection to her. Olive always tried to talk with Napoleon Pompey at meals, even when Ezra was there, being anxious to make him feel at his ease and happy in their presence; and to-day being alone with him she thought she might get some information out of him on the subject which was weighing so heavily upon her mind. “Napoleon Pompey, did you ever hear of their hunting down men on the prairie here?” “Yo’ bet, Mis’ Ollie, I seed darkie what went to de hangin’ ole man Howard. He done seed him hoisted over de tree slap up. He told me——” “Hush!” said Olive sternly. The young savage was abashed, he had meant no harm, but thought some pleasing details “o’ de hangin’,” which he himself had relished mightily, would prove equally acceptable to Olive’s taste. She was disgusted to think that with all her teaching of the forms and symbols of politeness and gentle manners, which the young scamp had received with such docility, she had not really touched his heart at all: he was just a black savage, still rejoicing in vivid details of horrors and cruelty.