“Ole ark she reel, ole ark she rock, Settin’ up on de mountain-top. Ole ark a-movin’, movin’ chillun-- Ole ark a-movin, I thank Gord! “Ole hyah, whut make yo’ eye so pop? I thank Gord fuh tuh see how tuh hop! Ole ark a-movin’, movin’, chillun-- Ole ark a-movin’, I thank Gord! “Ole hyah, whut make yo’ legs so thin? I thank Gord fuh tuh split ’gin de win’! Ole ark a-movin’, movin’, chillun-- Ole ark a-movin’, I thank Gord! “Ole hyah, whut make yo’ hade so bal’? I thank Gord ben butt ’gin de wall! Ole ark a-movin’, movin’, chillun-- Ole ark a-movin’, I thank Gord!” Before Roden could say anything, she rose and put aside her spinning-wheel, holding out to him her long shapely hand, which was covered with tan as with a brown glove to within about an inch of her homespun sleeve. “Good-night,” she said; “I’m sleepy. Father won’t be here now till tuh-morrer. I s’pec’ he slept at Cyarver’s. Everything’s ready--your barth an’ everything.” Thus dismissed, Roden took himself off to bed. As he dropped to sleep to the tune of “Ole ark a-movin’,” he was conscious of uncomfortable memories concerning haunted rooms in old Virginian mansions. Not that he believed in ghosts--Heaven forbid!--but some one might--some little nigger, you know--might play one a trick. He was roused suddenly and unpleasantly by three solemn raps on the door at his bed’s head. “Well--what is it?” he said, in an unnecessarily loud tone. “’Tis me--Aun’ Tishy,” replied an unmistakable voice. “Please come to de do’, sur, jess a minute.” He answered this appeal, opening the door cautiously an inch or two, whereupon she thrust into his hands a little white bundle. “Dis heah’s fo’ yo’ to war tuh-night. Marse Gawge he don’ war no night-shuts, and dey am none o’ th’ other Englishers lef’ none; so I jess stole you one o’ Miss Faginny’s. Don’ say nothin’ ’bout it, please, sur, ’case ef dar _is_ one thing Miss Faginny’s ’tic’lar ’bout, ’tis her clo’es.” Roden took the long white garment gingerly, as men lift a young baby, bade Aunt Tishy good-night, and closed the door. He then went to the fire and began to examine what that colossal personage had inferred to be “Miss Faginny’s night-shut.” It was a capacious arrangement of very thin linen, and superfine little frills of a like material--hardly the garment in which an overseer’s daughter would have wooed repose. The young man looked at it carefully and gravely from all points of view, then went and hung it over the mirror, and returning to bed, regarded it with the mute attention which he had before bestowed on the drab-colored Madonna. It was a dainty thing, probably a relic of some previous Englishman’s wife or daughter, and the rosy light from the handful of fresh cones which he had thrown on the fire stole in and out of its sheer folds caressingly.