Unwittingly the color of reproach must have lain upon my words, for she
answered quickly with yet more in hers,

"I had it buried!"

It was my turn to be surprised.

"Are you sure?"

"I am sure. I told them where to bury it; I showed them the very
spot--under the cedar. They told me they had. Why?"

I thought it better that she should learn the truth.

"You know we can't trust our negroes. They disobeyed you. They lied
to you; they never buried it. They threw it on the ash-pile. The pigs
tore it to pieces; I saw them; they were rooting at it and tearing it
to pieces."

She had clasped her hands, and turned towards me in acute distress.
After a while, with her face aside, she said, slowly,

"And you have believed that I knew of this--that I permitted it?"

"I have believed nothing. I have waited to understand."

A few minutes later she said, as if to herself,

"Many a person would have been only too glad to believe it, and to
blame me." Then folding her hands over one of mine, she said, with