resist. He shook his head--paused--and grinned.

"Come on, Sid, John's goin' with us," Robbie called to his young
henchman as he approached.

"All right," John consented, finally throwing every scruple to the
winds. "Ma'll whip me shore, but, by granny, it'll be worth it!"

The aristocrat slipped his arm around his chum and led him to the
orchard in triumph.

Custis laughed.

"He'd rather play with that little, poor white rascal than any boy in
the country."

"Don't blame him," Phil replied. "He may be dirty and ragged but he's a
real boy after a real boy's heart. And the handsomest little beggar I
ever saw--who is he?"

"The boy of a poor white family, the Doyles. They live just outside our
gate on a ten-acre farm. His mother's trying to make him go to school.
His father laughs and lets him go hunting and fishing."

They were strolling past the first neat row of houses in the servants'
quarters. Phil thought of them as the slave quarters. Yet he had not
heard the word slave spoken since his arrival. These black people were
"servants" and some of them were the friends and confidants of their
master and his household. Phil paused in front of a cottage. The yard
flamed with autumn flowers. Through the open door and windows came the