Mrs. Cary stopped short for a moment and then came slowly down the
steps.

"Oh, James," she said, unbelievingly. "Is this really true?"

Jeems Henry hung his head and dug at the gravel with his toe.

"I'm sorry," said Mrs. Cary, and the word held a world of painful
thought--of self-accusation, of hopeless regret, of sorrow for one who
could be so foolishly misguided. "I'm sorry not only for ourselves but
for _you_. You know, I promised Mammy before she died that I would look
after you--always."

Still Jeems Henry made no answer and old Uncle Billy saw fit to make a
disclosure.

"He's gwine up to Chickahominy." Then to Jeems Henry he added something
in low tones which made the young negro's eyes roll wildly with fear.
"Dey tells me dat der's _hants_ and _ghoses_ over dar. I hopes dey'll
git you."

"Stop that!" commanded Mrs. Cary. "You know very well, Uncle Billy,
there are no such things as ghosts."

"Nor'm I don't, Miss Hallie," responded Uncle Billy, sticking
tenaciously to his point, because he could plainly see Jeems Henry
wavering. "'Twas jes las' night I hear one--moanin' 'roun' de smoke
house. An' ef I ain't mighty fur wrong, she was smellin' arfter Jeems
Henry."