war. Why, the boy had held his stirrup the next morning when he rode away.
The sudden rush of recollection seemed to bridge the years, and that black
face became familiar, a memory of home.

"Of course, I remember, Neb," he exclaimed, eagerly, "but that's all years
ago and I never expected to see you again. What brought you West and got
you into this hole?"

The negro hitched up onto the bench, the whites of his eyes conspicuous as
he stared uneasily about--he had a short, squatty figure, with excessively
broad shoulders, and a face of intense good humor.

"I reck'n dat am consider'ble ob a story, Massa Jack, de circumlocution ob
which would take a heap ob time tellin'," he began soberly. "But it
happened 'bout dis away. When de Yankees come snoopin' long de East Sho'--
I reck'n maybe it des a yeah after dat time when we done buried de ol'
Co'nel--dey burned Missus Caton's house clah to de groun'; de ol' Missus
was in Richmond den, an' de few niggers left jest natchally took to de
woods. I went into Richmond huntin' de ol' Missus, but, Lawd, Massa Jack,
I nebber foun' nuthin' ob her in dat crowd. Den an' officer man done got
me, an' put me diggin' in de trenches. Ef dat's what wah am, I sho' don'
want no mo' wah. Den after dat I jest natchally drifted. I reckon I libbed
'bout eberywhar yo' ebber heard ob, fo' dar want no use ob me goin' back
to de East Sho'. Somebody said dat de West am de right place fo' a nigger,
an' so I done headed west."

He dropped his face in his black hands, and was silent for some minutes,
but Keith said nothing, and finally the thick voice continued:

"I tell yo', Massa Jack, it was mighty lonely fo' Neb dem days. I didn't