At that instant a little barefooted negro came running across the lawn
from the spring-house, a large tin pail in his hand.

"Here, boy!" called the general. "Where're you off to? What have you got
in that pail?"

"It's Jake," said Eugenia in a whisper, while Jim barked frantically
from the shelter of her arms. "He's Delphy's Jake."

The small negro stood grinning in the walk, his white eyeballs circling
in their sockets. "Hit's Miss Chris, suh," he said at last.

"Miss Chris, you rascal!" shouted the general. "Do you expect me to
believe you've got Miss Chris in that pail? Open it, sir; open it!"

Jake showed a shining row of ivory teeth and stood shaking the pail from
side to side.

"Miss Chris, she gun hit ter me, suh," he explained. "Hit's Miss Chris
herse'f dat's done sont me ter tote dish yer buttermilk ter Unk Mose."

"Bless my soul!" cried the general wrathfully. "Get away with you! The
whole place is bent on ruining me. I'll be in the poorhouse before the
week's up." And he strode indoors in a rage.




VII