Carrollton. The depot must have been a mile from the town, and very
few people were upon the platform, two drummers and ourselves the only
ones to disembark. The traveling men hastened to the nearest hack,
while I glanced about in search of a conveyance. The only other
vehicle present was a two-seated surrey, driven by a rather
disreputable negro. I approached in some doubt.

"No, sah," he said, grinning. "Dis yere am my own curridge, sah;
tain't nuthin' ter do wid de Henley plantation. I reckon dey done did
n't git no telegram. Dey sure did n't less dey wus oxpectin' one, an'
cum inter town after it. Yes, sah, I know whar de place am all right.
I done worked dar onct. I reckon you 'se Massa Philip Henley, sah;
though you 've sure growd some since I saw you de las' time. I 'se ol'
Pete, sah; I reckon you remembers ol' Pete."

"Of course I do," I returned heartily, encouraged by his words to
believe I would pass muster. "Can you drive us out?"

The negro scratched his head.

"I reckon as how I can, sah, leastwise so far as ther gate. It's going
to be plum dark when we gits dar, an' dis nigger don't fool round dar
none in de dark."

"Why, what's the trouble, Pete?"

"Cause ol' Massa Henley's ghost was hangin' round, sah. I ain't nebber
seen it myself, an' I don't want to, for he was sure bad 'nough alive,
but dar 's niggers what has."