He left it hanging there, and the last thing he remembered that night was its gleam, as of a pretty ghost in the firelit dusk of the big room. II. He could have sworn that he had slept but a moment when a terrific squeaking and squealing, yelping and growling, under his windows, aroused him with sufficient abruptness. His first idea was that the “’coons and things” were “killin’ each other clean out,” after the fashion of Miss Virginia’s supposition in regard to the Scriptural beasts in the story of the ark. Looking out, however, he saw that a large black and white hog was being chased, nipped, barked at, and otherwise maltreated by the mastiff and the collie. The frightened beast rushed hither and thither, squealing and grunting, and the two dogs followed, falling over each other in the eagerness of pursuit. After a while the mad trio disappeared to the farther end of the long terrace. Dawn had just broken. The east was one deep even tone of mellow gold, translucent, palpitating. Over against it lay gray streamers as of a tattered banner. The morning-star seemed to spin with a cold blue glitter as of ice in the voluptuous saffron of its setting. A band of trees stood out against the vivid east, with bold relief of indigo leaves and branches, like a gigantic tracery of unknown hieroglyphics. Over field and lawn a white steam rose and melted slowly--blue hill and tawny meadow appearing and disappearing as the pearly masses rolled together or dissolved. Roden heard with supreme delight the confidential voice of a little nigger announcing through the key-hole (their favorite channel of communication) that his “trunks dun come.” He got with all speed through his ablutions, and, when his boxes were brought, into a well-worn shooting-coat and knickerbockers, determining as he laced his hob-nailed boots to “do” the farm thoroughly that morning, and devote the rest of the day to mountain-climbing and explorations generally. As he went out on the square portico at the front of the house he met Miss Herrick, again in her boy’s dress, leading the mastiff and the collie with either hand. She had evidently been to the rescue of the black and white hog, and both dogs had a sneaky appearance, as though they knew a flogging was in store for them. “Mornin’,” she said to Roden, with her grave directness of regard. “How’d you sleep?” Before he could reply, a voice, rising in long, wailing tones upon the chill air, interrupted them. “O-o-o-o Po!” it called; “O-o-o-o _Po_!” then a pause as if waiting for a reply. Then again, “Aw-w-w Po-po! Aw-w-w _Po_-po!” “It’s father callin’ Popo,” explained Virginia. “Who’s Popo? Another nigger?” “Yes,” briefly. “What does ‘Popo’ stand for? Napoleon?” questioned Roden, much interested. “No,” she said. “’F you wait an’ listen you’ll hear. Father always calls like that at first. ’F Po answers tuhecly he’ll jus’ stop. ’F he don’t answer, father’ll jus’ go on callin’ till he says th’ whole name.”