Another incident comes to me from those bygone days. The fear of negro
insurrections at the neighboring plantations being temporarily lulled,
the gentry began to pluck up courage for their usual amusements. There
were to be races at some place a distance away, and Nick was determined
to go. Had he not determined that I should go, all would have been well.
The evening before he came upon his mother in the garden. Strange to
say, she was in a gracious mood and alone.

"Come and kiss me, Nick," she said. "Now, what do you want?"

"I want to go to the races," he said.

"You have your pony. You can follow the coach."

"David is to ride the pony," said Nick, generously. "May I go in the
coach?"

"No," she said, "there is no room for you."

Nicholas flared up. "Harry Riddle is going in the coach. I don't see
why you can't take me sometimes. You like him better than me."

The lady flushed very red.

"How dare you, Nick!" she cried angrily. "What has Mr. Mason been
putting into your head?"

"Nothing," said Nick, quite as angrily. "Any one can see that you like
Harry. And I WILL ride in the coach."