"Nonsense, Pete," I said. "The oil's wanted now. The mare hasn't done five miles today, and it'll do her good! You washed the buggy this afternoon, because I saw you." "Dat so, sah?" He rubbed his head. "Yes, I specs dat's so, now I think. I dis-remembered it." "Then hurry up. You can be back by eight." His eyes rolled on me. "But it done get _dark_ by eight, sah!" "Well, you can take the carriage lamps!" "I ain't gwine take no kerridge lamps--no, sah! All de time I wuk fur Doc' Lennox he ain' ask me to do no thing like that--no, sah; an' ef he ask me _now_ I ain' gwine do it." "But you've driven the doctor at night, you fool, time and again!" I cried, losing patience with him. "Don't stand there and tell me lies!" He kept his ground, obstinate, deferential. "Yessir, I done druv Doc' Lennox. I ain' sayin' nothin' 'bout that. I'se gwine drive you, doctah, ef yoh ask me, but I ain' gwine no village affer dark tonight ter git no ker'sine. I ain' gwine monkeyin' wi' no ha'ants, an' I d'want no ha'ants monkeyin' wid _me_!" That potent darkie word "ha'ants" gave me a clue. I strode out into the kitchen to Mrs. Searle. "What's this nonsense with Peter? What is he afraid of?" I asked her. Mrs. Searle's grey faded eyes rested on me a moment inquisitively. Then she went on with her dish-washing. "I reckon Peter's scared of the dark, sir," she answered civilly. "Them niggers is jest like that! The oil can wait, as well as not. There's more'n I thought, or I wouldn't have mentioned it to you." "It isn't going to wait," I said. "I'm not going to have this absurdity in any house I live in!" I went back to Pete in the dining-room. I had left the doors purposely open, and I swear he fairly squirmed when he saw me come in. "Now, Pete," I said. "You put the mare in at once. You're going after that oil and I'm going with you, if you're such a holy coward that you're afraid to drive a mile of road after dark alone!" If I had hoped to shame him, it was without result. "All right, sah!" he answered grandly, though I saw the relief in his eyes. "Ef you'se gwine I'se gwine. Dey ain' no one gwine call _me_ no cowa'd, doctah!" He went off to put the mare in, and in ten minutes I heard the grate of wheels before the house. It was already dark outside, but a moon was rising, and before we had driven far the carriage lamps were scarcely needed. Pete was subdued; I think he was trying to preserve his dignity in silence. I was tempted to a lecture, but remembered what Lennox had said of the futility of trying to combat darkie superstition. I was sure that Pete still carried his beloved rabbit foot, and I hope it gave him comfort on the drive. We reached the village, took in our can of oil, which Pete stowed under the buggy seat, and started to drive back. The moon was full overhead now, but obscured more or less by fleeting clouds. I saw Pete glancing several times at the buggy lamps. Presently he slackened the reins a little.