"Guess not," replied the white boy, knowingly. But Dick was right, for his people had been slaves among the very earliest Dutch settlers, and had never "lived South" at all. He was now busily getting one of the boats ready to push off; but his white tormentor went at him again with-- "Well, then, if you've lived here so long, you must know everybody." "Reckon I do." "Are there any nice fellows around here? Any like me?" "De nicest young genelman 'round dis bay," replied Dick, "is Mr. Dab Kinzer. But he aint like you. Not nuff to hurt 'im." "Dab Kinzer!" exclaimed the stranger. "Where did he get his name?" "In de bay, I spect," said Dick, as he shoved his boat off. "Caught 'im wid a hook." "Anyhow," said the strange boy to himself, "that's probably the sort of fellow my father would wish me to associate with. Only it's likely he's very ignorant." And he walked away toward the village with the air of a man who had forgotten more than the rest of his race were ever likely to find out. At all events, Dick Lee had managed to say a good word for his benefactor, little as he could guess what might be the consequences. Meantime, Dab Kinzer, when he went out from breakfast, had strolled away to the north fence, for a good look at the house which was thenceforth to be the home of his favorite sister. He had seen it before, every day since he could remember; but it seemed to have a fresh and almost mournful interest for him just now. "Hullo!" he exclaimed, as he leaned against the fence. "Putting up ladders? Oh yes, I see! That's old Tommy McGrew, the house-painter. Well, Ham's house needs a new coat as badly as I did. Sure it'll fit, too. Only it aint used to it any more'n I am." "Dabney!" It was his mother's voice, and Dab felt like "minding" very promptly that morning. "Dabney, my boy, come here to the gate." "Ham's having his house painted," he remarked, as he joined his mother. "Is he?" she said. "We'll go and see about it." As they drew nearer, however, Dabney discovered that carpenters as well as painters were plying their trade in and about the old homestead. There were window-sashes piled here and blinds there, a new door or so ready for use, with bundles of shingles, and other signs of approaching "renovation." "Going to fix it all over," remarked Dab. "Yes," replied his mother; "it'll be as good as new. It was well built, and will bear mending." When they entered the house, it became more and more evident that the "shabby" days of the Morris mansion were numbered. There were men at work in almost every room. Ham's wedding trip would surely give plenty of time, at that rate, and his house would be "all ready for him" on his return. There was nothing wonderful to Dabney in the fact that his mother went about inspecting work and giving directions. He had never seen her do anything else, and he had the greatest confidence in her knowledge and ability.