"I'se gwine ter stan' by you, boss. I'se mek up my min' ter be free
dis time, sho! Hi! w'at dat?"

He was wonderfully agile, for his arms were nearly as long as his
legs. In an instant he descended, drawing a trap-door after him.
Then he sauntered to the door, which he opened wide. A troop of
horsemen were coming single file by a path which led near the cabin,
and the foremost asked in a voice which the negro recognized as that
of Lieutenant Whately, "Is that you, Chunk?"

"Dat's me, mars'r. My 'specs."

"Be off, you skeleton. Make time for the house and help get supper
for me and the men. If you don't run like a red deer, I'll ride you
down."

"Good Lawd! w'at gwine ter hap'n nex'?" groaned Chunk, as he
disappeared toward the mansion. He burst like a bombshell into the
kitchen, a small building in the rear of the house.

"Did you eber see de likes?" exclaimed Zany. "What yo' manners--"

"Hi, dar! talk 'bout manners! Marse Whately comin' wid a army, en
want supper fer um all in des one minute en er haf by de clock!"

Great, fat Aun' Suke threw up her hands in despair, and in the brief
silence the tramp of horses and the jingling of sabres were plainly
heard. They all knew Mad Whately, and it needed not that Mrs. Baron,
desperately flurried, should bustle in a few moments later with