had desired to speak his mind to his young master, but had never dared
to take so great a liberty. Now the unusual circumstances they were
placed in, the fact that he had been lost in the mountains in his
service and half scared to death, imbued him with new boldness.

"She kain't he'p what he does, suh, no," said he. "But listen, now,
Marse Frank, to po' ol' Neb. De pizen vine hit don't b'ar peaches, an'
nightshade berries--dey ain't hulsome, eben ef dey're pooty."

"Neb, stop that!" Layson commanded sharply.

The old negro half slipped from the chair in which he had been sitting
wearily. Once he had started on the speech which he had made his mind
up, months ago, that, some day, he would screw his courage up to, he
would not be stopped.

"Oh, honey," he exclaimed, holding out his tremulous old hands in a
gesture of appeal, while the fire-light flickered on a face on which
affection and real sincerity were plain, "I's watched ovuh you evuh
sence yo' wuh a baby, an' when I see dat han'some face o' hers was
drawin' of yo' on, it jus' nigh broke my ol' brack heaht, it did. It
did, Marse Frank, fo' suah."

The young man could not reprimand the aged negro. He knew that all he
said came from the heart, a heart as utterly unselfish and devoted in
its love as human heart could be.

"Oh, pshaw, Neb!" he said soothingly. "Don't worry. Perhaps I did go
just a bit too far with Barbara--young folks, you know!--but that's all
over, now." Again he wondered most uncomfortably if this were really