Old Ephraim suffered here in the dark from a terror which had loosed its hold on his young master long ago,--the fear of the supernatural. Ghosts of many types, "ha'nts," headless horrors, spectral sounds from the other world, direful prognostications of signs, all in grisly procession passed and repassed and crowded the garret to suffocation. It would be impossible to imagine what the old gray-headed negro saw and heard as he crouched on the dusty floor, and listened to the rout of the wind in the trees, and watched the eerie aspect of the old furniture, itself associated with the long-gone dead, as the moon and the gust-driven shadowy clouds flickered and faded and flickered and faded across the dim spaces. When suddenly a shrill sound pierced the ghostly solitude, he fell prone in complete surrender on the floor, terrified, his nerves almost shattered. An inarticulate scream came again and again, and then a low chuckling chatter. A screech-owl, a tiny thing, had alighted on the window-sill, and hearing the stir, turned its head without shifting its body, its great round eyes encountering the reproachful rolling stare of old Ephraim as he tremulously gathered himself from the floor. Taking a package under his arm under the long coat he wore, he at last went noiselessly and swiftly down the stairs. He looked out heedfully for Judge Roscoe, whom he did not wish to encounter. "Marster hes been a jedge, an' dey say he hes set on de bench--dough I dunno whut fur dat's so oncommon, fur mos' ennybody kin set on a bench! He's sot in his own cushioned arm-chair in de lawbrary whut kin lean backwards on a spring, and recline his foots upwards, an' dat's a deal ch'icer dan enny bench I knows on! But he's been a jedge, an' he's got book-larnin', but somehow I 'low he ain't tricky enough ter be up ter _dis_ kink. I ain't gwine ter let him know nuffin'." When fairly out of the house all suggestion of secrecy and caution vanished. The old darkey flung his feet on the stone steps with a noisy impact, and before he reached the pavement, he had burst into song, marking the time with an emphatic rhythm--a wide blare of melody with a great baritone voice, that sounded far down the bosky recesses of the grove, all dappled with shadow and sheen. "Rise an' shine, _children_! Rise an' _shine_, children! Rise an' shine, _children_! De angels bid me ter come along! O-h-h, I want ter go ter heaben when I die--" He broke off suddenly. He did not wait to be challenged by the sentry as he turned, but greeted him with a sort of plaintive humility and a mendicant's confiding manner. "Marse Soldier, could ye gimme a chaw of terbacker, please, sir?"