"Miss Lou". Edward Payson Roe

tended to fire her spirit. Now that she saw her own dear old mammy led cowering under the hostile eyes of every one, she was almost beside herself with pity and anger. Unaccustomed to conventional restraint, reacting from long years of repression, a child still in some respects, in others a passionate woman revolting at a fate from which her whole nature shrank, she was carried far above and beyond her normal condition, and was capable of following her impulses, whatever they might be.

      Aun' Jinkey turned her eyes appealingly, and was awed, even in that terrible moment, by the intensity of the girl's expression, as she half consciously drew nearer and nearer. The field-hands, deeply excited, had also edged up from the quarters. Mr. Baron and his overseer observed yet tolerated this, thinking that it might be just as well to have the negroes learn from Aun' Jinkey's experience that authority would still be sternly enforced.

      Whately's headlong temperament was so overcome by anger that he noted nothing except the presence of one whom he believed the aider and abetter in his great loss, for a favorite and trusty horse is one of the dearest possessions of a cavalryman.

      "Where's your grandson?" he demanded, fiercely.

      "'Fo' de Lawd, I dunno," gasped Aun' Jinkey.

      "The truth, now, or you'll be sorry."

      "I dunno, I dunno. Ef he gone, he ain' say neber a word ter me, not eben good-by."

      "No use of your lying. You knew the rascal's purpose. Why didn't you tell Mr. Baron? Which way did he go?"

      "I des declar, mars'r, I dunno."

      "You DO know," cried Whately, driven almost to frenzy, "and I'll cut the truth out of you."

      His whip fell before he could arrest it, but it struck the arm and shoulder of Miss Lou. She had drawn very near, and, swift as light, had sprung forward and encircled the form of her mammy. There were startled exclamations from those near, echoed by a groan from the negroes, and then the girl spoke in stern, deep tones, "You thought to strike ONE woman, and you have struck TWO."

      Whately dropped his whip and stood with bowed head, paralyzed with shame. There were wild cries and a swaying of the field-hands toward the house. The mounted soldiers drew their revolvers and looked from the thronging black faces to that of their commander, but he paid no heed to them. Perkins did not wait, however, but drawing his weapon, began to limp toward the threatening mass, with oaths and orders to disperse. As for Mr. Baron and the ladies, they were just helpless in the whirl of events.

      Although Miss Lou's back was toward this new phase of the drama, she instantly and instinctively comprehended it. With a fear almost hereditary, as well as one vaguely dreaded from childhood, she recognized the possible horrors of an insurrection, her own action the indirect cause. She turned and sprang forward so swiftly to interpose that her comb fell away, and her golden hair streamed behind her. She stood between the blacks and those who could harm them; also those whom, in their wild excitement, they were ready to attack.

      "Silence!" she cried; then in the deep hush that followed she called out, in clear, ringing tones: "Every friend of mine will go back to quarters, keep quiet, and obey orders. I promise that no harm shall come to any of you."

      The men doffed their ragged hats, and a voice from the crowd answered, "We 'bey you, Miss Lou, en we won' let no harm come ter you, noder." Then as the dense, angry mass of a hundred or more men and women melted away toward the quarters, it was seen that many a heavy club was carried among them. Miss Lou watched them silently two or three moments, the rest looking on in wonder and suppressed anger mingled with fear. The girl returned, and taking her mammy by the hand, was about to lead her into the house. Whately started as she essayed to pass him unheedingly, and seized her hand. "Lou, Cousin Lou, forgive me!" he cried. "You know I meant you no such indignity."

      "I know you mean me a greater one," she replied, coldly, withdrawing her hand.

      "See! I ask your forgiveness on my knees!" he urged, passionately.

      But her heart was steeled against him, for her very soul was hot with indignation. "Come, mammy," she said, firmly, "such shelter and protection as I still have in this house you shall share."

      "Louise, this is monstrous!" began Mrs. Baron.

      "NO!" cried the girl. "This poor creature is the nearest approach I have ever known to a mother. She doesn't know about her grandson, and no one shall try to cut the truth out of her. Come, mammy," and she led the trembling old negress up to her room. When hidden from all eyes her courage and excitement gave way, and she cried on her mammy's breast like the child she was.