Uncle Zack was sitting, shortly after noon a week later, on the door step of Bradford's cottage. Mesmie was sleeping by the aid of a mild narcotic, and Aunt Timmie, having darkened the windows, had now come quietly out to converse with him. Her seven days of vigilance had been trying to a degree, and, although while in the sick room she was the very soul of tenderness, this opportunity for relaxation came as a grateful relief. Therefore, Zack had been passing through several uncomfortable minutes, during the course of which he heard a great deal about "wu'thless niggers what sponges off dey twin wife," and other caustic observations. His position was becoming altogether unbearable, yet he knew that if he attempted flight she would bring him back, and if he openly rebelled she would spank him. Only on the Colonel's last birthday she had turned him over her knee in good earnest, because he imbibed too many heel-taps to wait upon the table. So, resorting to diplomacy, he assumed a wise air and hinted that he might not be so untrustworthy as she had been misled to believe--that, indeed, he was the possessor of a startling piece of news. This mollified Aunt Timmie. If she could get nothing else out of her gamble on Zack's earthly existence, she might at least know his secrets. As a matter of fact, she would be most righteously hurt if every family secret did not with proper humility walk up and lay its head in her lap. So she began, using a bait which long experience had proven fruitful when angling in Zack's vicinity. "You don' know nuthin'," she tilted her chin with a grand air of scorn. "You never did know nuthin', an' it hu'ts me mos' persumptuously to say dat you ain' never gwine know nuthin'!" "Don' make no diff'ence ef I knows nuthin', or not;--I knows sumfin, jest de same!" he retorted. "Don' strain yohse'f dat a-way, li'l man," she sneered. "You ain' got sense 'nuff to know you ain' got no sense--an' dat's de wu'st fix a body kin be in!" "Who says so?" Zack was driven to a question. "Eve'ybody says so! 'Tain' no secret 'tween heah an' town!" "You don' 'tatch 'nuff 'portance to me," he glared at her, quivering with indignation, "Since you lef heah de Cunnel don' do nuthin' 'thout fu'st axin' me!" She laughed, guardedly on Mesmie's account, but it was a taunting, disdainful laugh that cut him to the quick. "Listen to dat!" she sneered. "An' Marse John done said he wouldn' trust you in jail!" "Den how-cum he taken me wid 'im to find dat man Marse Dale done shoot?" the outraged old man, at last taking the bait, triumphantly dashed off with it. Aunt Timmie straightened in her chair and her eyes rolled at him in terror. "You'se lyin'," she said huskily.