"What happened to yo' hair, Baby?" she said presently. "Hit looks as bright as dat flaxion curl o' yoze I got in my Testamen'. I was lookin' at it only a week ago las' Sunday, an' wishin' I could read de book 'long wid de curl." "It is much lighter than that, Mammy. It is whiter than yours. I have lived the sorrows of a long life in a few years." Israel still stood somewhat aside and was taking no note of their speech, which he presently interrupted nervously: "H-how you reckon Mars' Harol' knowed me, Hannah? He--he reco'nized his horn! You ricollec' when I fotched dat horn f'om de islan' roun' my neck, clean 'crost de flood, you made game o' me, an' I say I mought have need of it? But of co'se I didn't ca'culate to have it ac-_chilly_ call Mars' Harol' home! I sho' didn't! But dat's what it done. Cep'n' for de horn's call bein' so familius, he'd 'a' paid me my dime like a stranger an' passed on." At this Harold laughed. "Sure enough, Uncle Israel; you didn't collect my ferriage, did you? I reckon you'll have to charge that." Israel chuckled: "Lord, Hannah, listen! Don't dat soun' like ole times? Dey don't charge nothin' in dese han'-to-mouf days, Marse Harol'--not roun' heah." "But tell me, Uncle Israel, how did you happen to bring that old horn with you--sure enough?" Harold interrupted. "I jes fotched it _'ca'se I couldn't leave it_--de way Hannah snatched yo' po'trit off de wall--all in dat deluge. Hit's heah in de cabin now to witness de trip. But in co'se o' time de horn, hit come handy when I tuk de ferry-skift. "Well, Hannah, when he stepped aboa'd, he all but shuk de ole skift to pieces. I ought to knowed dat Le Duc high-step, but I didn't. I jes felt his tread, an' s'luted him for a gentleman, an' axed him for Gord sake to set down befo' we'd be capsided in de river. I war n't cravin' to git drownded wid no aristoc'acy. "De moon she was hidin', dat time, an' we couldn't see much; but he leant over an' he say, 'Uncle,' he say, 'who blowed dat horn 'crost de river?' An' I say, 'Me, sir. I blowed it.' Den he say, 'Whose horn _is_ dat?' An' I 'spon', 'Hit's _my_ horn, sir.' Den my conscience begin to gnaw, an' I sort o' stammered, 'Leastways, it b'longs to a frien' o' mine wha' look like he ain't nuver gwine to claim it.' I ain't say who de frien' was, but d'rec'ly he pushed me to de wall. He ax me p'intedly to my face, 'What yo' frien' name, uncle?' An at dat I got de big head an' I up an' snap out: "'Name Le Duc, sir, Harry Le Duc.' "Jes free an' easy, so, I say it. Lord have mussy! Ef I'd s'picioned dat was Mars' Harol' settin' up dar listenin' at me callin' his name so sociable an' free, I'd 'a' drapped dem oa's overbo'ad. I sho' would.