"Oh, fust-rate, what is left of de old stock, but dar is a heap of changes in the pore-house as well as in other places, Brudder Andy. Some of the ol' residenters have gone to dar long home, and dar places are done filled. Gabe Websta was one of de late arrivals."

"What is dat?" cried Andy in amazement, while Aunt Kitty and Mose gazed upon him in consternation, and Chloe removed her pipe to listen. "Yer suttenly don't mean our Gabe Websta?" he questioned.

"I is sorry to inform you, Brudder Andy, that Gabe is at this moment in the pore-house; he was took up as a wagrant early this fall."

"As a wagrant!" echoed Andy, rolling up his eyes and shaking his frosty head. "Now ain't it too bad dat anybody dat had de raisen dat boy had wid ol' Ma.r.s.e Courtney, has done gone an' disgraced hisself?"

"You know that he never would work, Uncle Andy," remarked Kitty. "Ol'

missus used to say that it was more bother to make Gabe work than his work was wuth."

"Dat boy was born on Christmas day, an' has been keepin' Christmas ebber since," commented Andy; "he'd jist like to set by de cob fire all winter, an' go ter sleep in de sun all summer, an' let de hoein' take keer of itself. I allus tole him dat his laziness would done fotch him to jail, but I never mistrusted dat he would stop at de pore-house on his way."

"Dar is wus places than the pore-house, Brudder Andy," remarked Israel with dignity.

"Dat's so, Brudder Isrel; 'deed dat is jis' so! I is makin' no deflections on de pore-house, but on dat misable Gabe Websta. De pore-house is fur 'flicted pussons an' dem dat is too ol' ter work, not for sich as Gabe."

"Gabe says he is not able to work; he done says he has the rheumatiz,"

supplemented Israel.

"He allus had som'thin' or 'nother all his days, 'cept on Sattuday afternoons an' Sundays, an' 'lection days an' Christmas week; at dem times Gabe was allus in a good state ob health."

"Maybe he has the rheumatiz for certain to pay him up for play in'

'possum so many times," suggested Chloe.

"Maybe Chloe is right, Uncle Andy," interposed Roy. "Let Israel, when he goes back, ask the overseer to get a doctor to investigate."

"If Gabe wants to stay in de pore-house dar had better be no 'westigations," said Uncle Andy with energy. "He'll get turned out fo'

sh.o.r.e; he can't fool dem doctahs like he fooled ol' missus."

"Gabe has had spells of rheumatiz afore, has he, Brudder Andy?" asked Israel.

"Yes, every time dar was a big job ob work on hand."

"Ol' missus used to send him to hunt eggs," said Chloe, "and he'd just lay down on the hay and go to sleep. He'd go to sleep standin' up keepin' the flies off the table, that Gabe would."

"n.o.body could do nothin' wid dat boy noways," said Uncle Andy, reflectively; "he'll hab to wait till all de folks dat know him is gone dead afore he plays dat game ob de rheumatiz an' de pore-house. Jis' now he's like de folks dat wear eye-gla.s.ses to pop on an' off as suits de 'casion; when he done gits de rheumatiz right, he'll be like de people dat wears specs; dat means business."

"Uncle Andy, won't you sing, and let the others join in the chorus?"

asked Cecil. "It will be splendid now that Israel is here."

"To be sh.o.r.e we will sing, honey! What will you hab?"

Before Cecil could make choice Uncle Andy broke into that melody so dear to his race-"Roll, Jordan, Roll," and Israel's deep, pathetic voice thrilled the hearts of the city boys as no other had done; no noted concert singer had tones so full and grand as issued from his powerful chest without effort or thought that he was making an impression upon his listeners.

"There is one thing that Gabe could do," remarked Kitty, when the last notes died away in perfect accord, "he could sing like a seraphim; that 'Roll, Jordan, Roll' was his favorite."

"Dat is so; dat is jis' so!" agreed Uncle Andy, whose feelings were softened by the melody, "and I'll tell yer what was pa.s.sin' in my mind while we was singin'. I is gwine to write a letter to Gabe dis yer berry night. Roy, honey, bring de pen; Kitty, clar dat table; I's gwine ter write dis yer hour an' tell Gabe Websta ter gib up de rheumatiz an' go ter work."

"Oh, Uncle Andy, Gabe won't be in a hurry to get that letter; wait till mornin'," said Kitty.

"No, now is de 'cepted time, Kitty. If de doctahs git to 'westigatin'

it'll knock Gabe higher 'n a kite; he'll git well ob dat rheumatiz, an'

be popped out 'n dat pore-house whar my letter will nebber jine him. No, sah! Dat letter has done got ter be writ dis yer ebenin'."

"To-morrow would be airly enough," said Kitty, preparing to arrange the table for the writing materials.

"You is allus puttin' off, Kitty. Dat is de way ol' Satan gits de souls ob sinners; dey help him dar ownselves by puttin' off. Git de writin'

utenshils, Roy, honey."

While Roy was gone, Andy had the table rolled to his chair and was ruminating over the prospective contents of the epistle when he returned.

"How shall I commence it, Uncle Andy?" Roy asked.

"Dear Gabe," suggested Chloe.

"No, I is gwine ter say no sich thing!" said Andy irately, the softening influence of the music having lost its effect when he had reflected upon Gabe's delinquencies. "He's not 'dear Gabe' ter onybody but de pore-house and dem dat has him ter keep; mighty cheap Gabe in my mind."

"'Respected Gabe,' or 'Esteemed Gabe'" suggested Roy, with waiting pen in hand.

"No, he is none ob dat! 'Lazy Gabe' is de only 'pendix dat fits him."

"But it would not look well to commence a letter that way," said Roy.

"No, honey, ol' Andy knows dat. Folks hab to be 'ceitful in dis yer wicked world. I suppect yer'll hab ter say, 'dear Gabe,'" he agreed regretfully.

Roy jotted it down quickly, thinking another discussion might arise.

"It'll be berry short, honey, jes' say 'You Gabe Websta, come out 'en dat pore-house afore de doctahs hab a chance to 'westigate, an' gib yer wuthless place to some 'flicted creetur dat ain't playin' 'possum, an'

go ter work an' airn your livin', an' may de Lord hab mercy on yer soul.'"

"But Uncle Andy," said Roy, when the old man paused for breath, "that is what a judge says when a person is sentenced to the gallows."

"Dat tex' 'plies to anybody, honey, 'kase we is all sinnahs, an' we'se all got ter die."

Roy proceeded with the epistle, softening it as much as possible, signed Andy's name to it, stamped and addressed it, and Andy gave it to Perry to mail.

"Thanky, thanky, honey! If Gabe goes ter sleep ober dat letta I done hope de doctahs will 'westigate an' pop him out 'n dat pore-house;" and, serenity restored, Andy was ready to sing and as soon as the sweet notes of "I've Been Redeemed" died away Mrs. Courtney rang the bell for prayers. Israel went to the library with the others and Perry went home.

When Ralph and James went to their room that night they stood gazing for some time from their windows upon "My Lady's Manor," beautiful under the light of the full moon. From the servants' quarters could be heard the same plaintive airs to which they had listened that evening, accompanied by banjo and violin, and they expressed to each other the wish that they might see the place before returning to Baltimore.

"Uncle Val," said Cecil the next morning, "may we go to 'My Lady's Manor?' Ralph and James would like to see it."

A look of pain crossed Mr. Courtney's face, but he gave permission. "I have a message," he continued, "and now is perhaps the best time to send it; while there, please tell the servants of the death of Miss Anna Ashburton; they loved her and should no longer be kept in ignorance of it."

Breakfast finished, the four boys hurried away, and as they drew near Mrs. Ashley's cottage they saw Hilda Brinsfield standing at the gate with a white rabbit in her arms.

"What a beautiful little girl," said Ralph in a low tone; "she is the loveliest creature I ever saw."

"That is what we all think," responded Cecil. "Mother says that with her blue eyes and golden hair she reminds her of the angels we see in pictures."