displeasure. At times he was reckless beyond words to describe, and
again he would fall sober for a day. He could be cruel and tender in the
same hour; abandoned and freezing in his dignity. He had an old negro
mammy whose worship for him and his possessions was idolatry. I can hear
her now calling and calling, "Marse Nick, honey, yo' supper's done got
cole," as she searched patiently among the magnolias. And suddenly there
would be a shout, and Mammy's turban go flying from her woolly head, or
Mammy herself would be dragged down from behind and sat upon.

We had our supper, Nick and I, at twilight, in the children's dining
room. A little white room, unevenly panelled, the silver candlesticks
and yellow flames fantastically reflected in the mirrors between the deep
windows, and the moths and June-bugs tilting at the lights. We sat at a
little mahogany table eating porridge and cream from round blue bowls,
with Mammy to wait on us. Sometimes there floated in upon us the hum of
revelry from the great drawing-room where Madame had her company. Often
the good Mr. Mason would come in to us (he cared little for the parties),
and talk to us of our day's doings. Nick had his lessons from the
clergyman in the winter time.

Mr. Mason took occasion once to question me on what I knew. Some of my
answers, in especial those relating to my knowledge of the Bible,
surprised him. Others made him sad.

"David," said he, "you are an earnest lad, with a head to learn, and you
will. When your father comes, I shall talk with him." He paused--"I
knew him," said he, "I knew him ere you were born. A just man, and
upright, but with a great sorrow. We must never be hasty in our
judgments. But you will never be hasty, David," he added, smiling at me.
"You are a good companion for Nicholas."