Rossmore came in from the street and caught sight of the baskets just as
old Jinny crossed her field of vision. She quite lost her patience and
said:

"Well, what will you do next? What in the world possessed you to clutter
up the parlor table with these baskets of ashes?"

"Ashes?" And she came to look. She put up her hands in pathetic
astonishment. "Well, I never see de like!"

"Didn't you do it?"

"Who, me? Clah to goodness it's de fust time I've sot eyes on 'em, Miss
Polly. Dat's Dan'l. Dat ole moke is losin' his mine."

But it wasn't Dan'l, for he was called, and denied it.

"Dey ain't no way to 'splain dat. Wen hit's one er dese-yer common
'currences, a body kin reckon maybe de cat--"

"Oh!" and a shudder shook Lady Rossmore to her foundations. "I see it
all. Keep away from them--they're his."

"His, m' lady?"

"Yes--your young Marse Sellers from England that's burnt up."

She was alone with the ashes--alone before she could take half a breath.
Then she went after Mulberry Sellers, purposing to make short work with
his program, whatever it might be; "for," said she, "when his