Jacquelin felt doubly rebuked for his unjust suspicions, and, as a compensation, told Mr. Still of his last conversation with his father, and of what his father had said of him. Still was moved almost to tears. “Your father was the best friend I ever had in this world, Mr. Jack,” he said. “I’ll never—” he had to turn his face away. “You can’t do no better than your father.” “No, indeed,” Jacquelin agreed to that. All he wished was to do just what his father had done—He was not well; and he should leave the management of the place to Mr. Still, just as his father had done—at least, till they knew how things stood, he added. There was a slight return of a look which had been once or twice in Still’s downcast eyes, and he raised them to take a covert glance at Jacquelin’s face. Jacquelin, however, did not see it. He was really suffering greatly from his wound; and the expression he caught on Still’s face was only one of deep concern. He asked after Still’s family. Wash had gone to the city to study medicine, Still said. “We pore folks as ain’t got a fine plantation like this has got to have a trade or something.” Virgy was at home keeping house for him. She was a good big girl now—“most grown like Miss Blair,” he added. There was a slight tone in the manager’s voice which somehow grated on Jacquelin a little, he did not know why. And he changed the subject rather shortly. Some time he wished to talk to Mr. Still about that Deep-run plantation in the South, he said, as he had attended to stocking it and knew more about it than anyone else; but he did not think he was equal to it just then. Still agreed that this was right, also that the first thing for Jacquelin to do now was to take care of himself and get well. Just then Andy Stamper came round the house, with a bucket in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other. At sight of Jacquelin his face lit up with pleasure. Before Andy could nod to Hiram the latter had gone, with a queer look on his face, and something not unlike a slink in his gait. The bucket Andy had brought was full of eggs, which Delia Dove, Andy said, had sent Jacquelin, and she had sent the flowers too. “I never see anyone like her for chickens an’ flowers,” said Andy. “She’s a good friend o’ yours. I thought when I got home I wa’n’t goin’ to get her after all. I thought she’d ’a’ sent me back to P’int Lookout,” he laughed. His expression changed after a moment.