“Uncle Levi, these are sad times now,” she said. “I am looking for something for mamma's supper and I can find nothing.” The old negro, shabbier, lonelier, poorer than ever, shambled up to the wall where she was standing and uncovered a split basket full of eggs. “I'se got a pa'cel er hens hid in de woods over yonder,” he explained, “en I keep de eggs behin' de j'ists in my cabin. Sis Floretty she tole me dat de w'ite folks wuz wuss off den de niggers now, so I brung you dese.” “Oh, Uncle Levi!” cried Betty, seizing his gnarled old hands. As she looked at his stricken figure a compassion as acute as pain brought the quick tears to her eyes. She remembered the isolation of his life, the scornful suspicion he had met from white and black, and the injustice that had set him free and sold Sarindy up the river. “You wuz moughty good ter me,” muttered free Levi, shuffling his bare feet in the long grass, “en Marse Dan, he wuz moughty good ter me, too, 'fo' he went away on dat black night. I 'members de time w'en dat ole Rainy-day Jones up de big road (we all call him Rainy-day caze he looked so sour) had me right by de collar wid de hick'ry branch a sizzlin' in de a'r, en I des 'lowed de een had mos' come. Yes, Lawd, I did, but I warn' countin' on Marse Dan. He warn' mo'n wais' high ter ole Rainy-day, but de furs' thing I know dar wuz ole Rainy-day on de yerth wid Marse Dan a-lashin' 'im wid de branch er hick'ry.” “We shall never forget you--Dan and I,” answered Betty, as she took the basket, “and when the time comes we will repay you.” The old negro smiled and turned from her, and Betty, quickening her pace, ran on to Uplands, reaching the house a little breathless from the long walk. In the chamber upstairs she found Mrs. Ambler sitting before the window with her open Bible on the sill, where a spray of musk roses entered from the outside wall. “All well, mamma?” she asked in a cheerful voice. Mrs. Ambler started and turned slowly from the window. “I see a great light on the road,” she murmured wonderingly. Crossing to where she sat, Betty leaned out above the climbing roses and glanced to the mountains huddled against the sky. “It is General Sheridan going up the valley,” she said. VIII THE LAST STAND