"You couldn't guess in a week," Saul interrupted, "because you're thinking it might be some one of the planters, like Master Sims, instead of which it was that worthless son of his--Horry." Watching Uncle 'Rasmus closely, I fancied that this information was not new to him, and straightway fell awondering how it was that this old negro who seldom strayed out of the stable-yard, let alone going away from the plantation, should have an inkling of what might be done so far away as the Sims place. "Pierre has been to York Town, Uncle 'Rasmus, and he knows where Silver Heels and Saul's mare are quartered." "An' is dat all he knows, chile?" "It strikes me that's finding out considerable in one day," and then I explained how it was little Frenchie was able to move about York Town as he had, after which Uncle 'Rasmus asked in a hopeful tone: "Did he fin' out, chile, which ossifer was gwine to ride Silber Heels, an' which one laid his mark on Saul's mare?" As a matter of course Pierre could not give the information; but he explained with great minuteness where the horses were stabled, and I was impatient with him because of wasting so many words when it could do no good. Much to my surprise Uncle 'Rasmus drank it all in, and when little Frenchie had come to an end of his overly long story the old negro said, taking the straw from his mouth and holding it in the air as if to ascertain from which direction came the wind: "I reckon I'se 'bleeged to be goin', chillun. For an ole man like Uncle 'Rasmus it's quite a journey from here to de town ob York, an' ef I counts on doin' it 'twixt now an' sunrise, I'd better get my ole legs amovin'." "York Town, Uncle 'Rasmus?" I cried in surprise, and well I might, for within the past three years I had never seen the old negro go as far from the house as the cotton fields. "Dat's what I said, chile, an' I'se 'bleeged to be amovin'." "But why are you going there, Uncle 'Rasmus?" I cried, catching him by the arm to insure his attention, and he replied dreamily, but, as it seemed to me, with a certain air of decision: "I 'low it's time I was lookin' arter Marse Hamilton's house down yander, whar ole Mary libed when he done set her free." "There's no need of your looking after that old shanty, Uncle 'Rasmus," I cried. "Surely father gives no heed to it now; it isn't worth half a dozen shillings, except for firewood." "I know dat, honey; I'se done foun' all dat out, but sumfin's tellin' me dat it's time I was lookin' arter Marse Hamilton's property what's been lef dere in de town ob York, whar de Britishers am rampagin' an' rarin' 'roun' like dey was gone crazy." "But you'll starve to death there, Uncle 'Rasmus. I don't fancy there are very many of old Mary's goods left in the hovel, for if I remember rightly young Dinah laid claim to the greater portion, and how will you get along for something to eat?"