the burning eyes, and the supple cruelty of the wild beast was in the
clenched hands.

Esmond Clarenden looked up at her with interest. Then pointing toward
our house he said, calmly:

"Neither are you anybody's master. Go over there to the kitchen and get
your supper. If you can cook good meals, I'll pay you well. If you
can't, you'll leave here."

Possibly it was the first time in her strange and varied career that she
had taken a command kindly, and obeyed because she must. And so the
savage African princess, the terror of the terrible slave-ship, the
untamed plantation scourge, with a record for deeds that belong to
another age and social code, became the great, silent, faithful,
fearless servant of the plains; with us, but never of us, in all the
years that followed. But she fitted the condition of her day, and in her
place she stood, where the beloved black mammy of a gentler mold would
have fallen.

She announced that her name was Daniel Boone, which Uncle Esmond
considered well enough for one of such a westward-roving nature. But
Jondo declared that the "Daniel" belonged to her because, like unto the
Bible Daniel, no lion, nor whole den of lions, would ever dine at her
expense. To us she became Aunty Boone. With us she was always
gentle--docile, rather; and one day we came to know her real measure,
and--we never forgot her.

I bounced out of bed at her call this morning, and bounced my breakfast
into a healthy, good-natured stomach. The sunny April of yesterday had