street, Frankfort. The driver of this establishment was a negro boy, whom
we readily recognize as our friend Ike. He was taking it leisurely through
the town, stopping before every large "smart" looking house to
reconnoiter, and see if it resembled the one his master had described.

At last he was accosted by a young African, who called out, "Ho, thar, old
boy! What you keepin’ yer eyes peeled and yer’ mouth open for? Is you
catchin’ flies?"

"No, sar," replied Ike. "I’s tryin’ to find Miss Crane’s boardin’ house."

"Oh, yes; wall, it’s up t’other way. You jist turn that old rackerbone of
your’n straight round and turn down that ar street, whar you see that
steeple, and, the fust house on the corner is Miss Crane’s. But say, is
you and that ar quadruped jist out of the ark?"

"I dun know nothin’ ’bout yer ark," said Ike, whose Scripture knowledge
was rather limited, "but I ’longs to Marster Josh, and I’m goin’ to see
Miss Fanny—and now I think of it, won’t you ride?"

"Lord, no," said the negro; "I’m in a great hurry; goin’ arter the doctor
for ole miss, who’s sartin she’s goin’ for to die this time."

"You don’t seem in much of a hurry," said Ike.

"No," returned the other; "old miss has died a heap o’ times, by spells,
so I reckon she’ll hang on this time till I git back, jist so she can jaw
me for being gone so long."

So they parted, the stranger negro to go for the doctor and Ike to go to