their sins--and then die in.

The down-stairs halls had grown darker, and the rain came down in a
gray sheet, so that the open window seemed a hole cut into it. The
tray we had left on the window-ledge was gone. In its place was
nothing more romantic than a freshly filled and trimmed kerosene
lamp, two candles, and a box of matches.

When our Jehu finally returned he rummaged out some firewood from
the sooty kitchen and built us a fire in the hall. He was a pleasant
old negro, garrulous and kindly, by name Adam King, or, as he
informed us, "Unc' Adam" to all Hyndsville folks.

"Uncle Adam," Alicia asked, while he was drying himself before the
blazing logs, "Uncle Adam, who's the violinist around here?"

Uncle Adam looked at the Yankee lady a bit doubtfully. The old
fellow was slightly deaf, but he would have died rather than admit
it.

"Wellum," he told us, "since ol' Mis' Scarlett's gone, folks does
say de doctor is. Dat's 'cause ob de Hynds' blood in 'im. All dem
Hyndses was natchelly de violentest kind o' pussons, an' Doctor, he
ain't behin' de do'." He rubbed his hands and chuckled. "Lawd, yes!
I know de Doctor, man an' boy, an' he suttinly rips an' ta'hs when
he's riled! You ought ter seen 'im de day ol' Mis' Scarlett let fly
wid 'er shot-gun an' blowed de tails spang off'n two of 'is hens an'
de haid off'n 'is prize rooster! De fowls come thoo' de haidge, an'
ol' Mis' grab 'er gun an' blaze away. De Doctor hear de squallation,
an' come flyin' outer de office an' right ovah de haidge. I 'uz