In spite of all Eve could say he crawled out of bed, fumbled into his clothes and started down town, leaning heavily on his cane. He had gone about a block, when he suddenly reeled and fell. Eve was watching him from the door, and was quickly by his side. He died that afternoon at three o’clock. He regained consciousness before the end, and asked Eve for his banjo. He put it lovingly into the hands of Charlie Gaston who stood by the bed crying. “You keep ’er, honey. You lub ’er talk better’n any body in de work, en ’member Nelse when you hear ’er moan en sigh. En when she talk short en sassy en make ’em all gin ter shuffle, dat’s me too. Dat’s me got back in ’er.” Charlie Gaston rode with Aunt Eve to the cemetery. He walked back home through the fields with Dick. “I wouldn’ cry ’bout er ole nigger!” said Dick looking into his reddened eyes. “Can’t help it. He was my best friend.” “Haint I wid you?” “Yes, but you ain’t Nelse.” “Well, I stan’ by you des de same.” CHAPTER XXII--THE DANGER OF PLAYING WITH FIRE THE following Saturday the Rev. John Durham preached at a cross roads school house in the woods about ten miles from Hambright. He preached every Saturday in the year at such a mission station. He was fond of taking Charlie with him on these trips. There was an unusually large crowd in attendance, and the Preacher was much pleased at this evidence of interest. It had been a hard community to impress. At the close of the services, while the Preacher was shaking hands with the people, Charlie elbowed his way rapidly among the throng to his side. “Doctor, there’s a nigger man out at the buggy says he wants to see you quick,” he whispered. “All right, Charlie, in a minute.” “Says to come right now. It’s a matter of life and death, and he don’t want to come into the crowd.” A troubled look flashed over the Preacher’s face and he hastily followed the boy, fearing now a sinister meaning to his great crowd. “Preacher,” said the negro looking timidly around, “dc Ku Klux is gwine ter kill ole Uncle Rufus Lattimore ter night. I come ter see ef you can’t save him. He aint done nuthin’ in God’s work ’cept he would’n’ pull his waggin clear outen de road one day fur dat redheaded Allan McLeod ter pass, en he cussed ’im black and blue en tole ’im he gwine git eben wid ’im.” “How do you know this?” “I wuz huntin’ in de woods en hear a racket en dim’ er tree. En de Ku Kluxes had der meetin’ right under de tree. En I hear ev’ry word.” “Who was leading the crowd?” “Dat Allan McLeod, en Hose Norman.” “Where are they going to meet?”