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“What am I gwine to do wid dese yere barkers, Colonel?” asked Chad, picking up his master’s case of duelling pistols from the mantel. “I ain’t tetched der moufs since I iled ’em up for dat Klutchem man.”

“Take them upstairs, Chad, and put them away,” answered the Colonel with an indignant wave of the hand.

“No chance o’ pickin’ him, I s’pose? Done got away fo’ sho, ain’t he?”

The Colonel nodded his head and kept on looking into the fire. The subject was evidently an unpleasant one.

“Couldn’t Major Yancey an’ de Jedge do nuffin?” persisted the old servant, lifting one of the pistols from the case and squinting into its polished barrel.

“Eve’ything that a gentleman could do was done, Chad. You are aware of that, Major?” and he turned his head towards me–the Colonel will insist on calling me “Major.” “But I am not done with him yet, Chad. The next time I meet him I shall lay my cane over his back. Take them upstairs and put them on my dressin’ table. We’ll keep them for some gentleman at home.”

The Colonel arose from his chair, picked up the decanter, poured out a glass for me and one for himself, replenished his long clay pipe from a box of tobacco within reach of his hand and resumed his seat again. Mention of Mr. Klutchem’s name produced a form of restlessness in my host which took all his self-control to overcome.

“–And, Chad.” The old darky had now reached the door opening into the narrow hall, the case of pistols in his hand.

“Yes, sah.”

“I think you have a right to know, Chad, why I did not meet Mr. Klutchem in the open field.”

Chad bent his head in attention. This had really been the one thing of all others about which this invaluable servant had been most disturbed. Before this it had been a word, a blow, and an exchange of shots at daybreak in all the Colonel’s affairs–all that Chad had attended–and yet a week or more had now elapsed since this worthy darky had moulded some extra bullets for these same dogs “wid der moufs open,” and until to-night the case had never even left its place on the mantel.

Three candles now were all that were left unlighted; two of them side by side on the same branch, a brown one and a white one, and below these a yellow one standing all alone.

The Colonel selected a fresh taper, kindled it in the flame of Aunt Nancy’s top candle, and turning to Chad, who was standing behind his chair, said:

“I’m goin’ to put you, Chad, where you belong,–right alongside of me. Here, Katy darlin’, take this taper and light this white candle for me, and I’ll light the brown one for Chad,” and he picked up another taper, lighted it, and handed it to the child.

“Now!”

As the two candles flashed into flame, the Colonel leaned over, and holding out his hand to the old servant–boys together, these two, said in a voice full of tenderness:

“Many years together, Chad,–many years, old man.”

Chad’s face broke into a smile as he pressed the Colonel’s hand:

“Thank ye, marster,” was all he trusted himself to say–a title the days of freedom had never robbed him of–and then he turned his head to hide the tears.

During this whole scene little Jim had stood on tiptoe, his eyes growing brighter and brighter as each candle flashed into a blaze. Up to the time of the lighting of the last guest candle his face had expressed nothing but increasing delight. When, however, Mammy Henny’s candle, and then Chad’s were kindled, I saw an expression of wonderment cross his features which gradually settled into one of profound disappointment.

But the Colonel had not yet taken his seat. He had relighted the taper–this time from Mammy Henny’s candle–and stood with it in his hand, peering into the branches as if looking for something he had lost.

“Ah, here’s another. I wonder–who–this–little–yaller–candle–can–be–for,” he said slowly, looking around the room and accentuating each word. “I reckon they’re all here–Let me see–Aunt Nancy, Mr. Klutchem, Katy, Fitz, the Major, Mammy Henny, Chad, and me–Yes–all here–Oh!!” and he looked at the boy with a quizzical smile on his face–“I came vehy near forgettin’.

“This little yaller candle is Jim’s.”

* * * * *

When it was all over; and Aunt Nancy herself had tied on Katy’s hat and tucked the tippet into her neck, and buttoned her coat so that not a breath of cold air could get inside; and when Jim stood holding Mr. Klutchem’s hat in the hall, with Chad but a few feet away; and when Mr. Klutchem had said good-by to Aunt Nancy, and had turned to take the extended hand of the Colonel, I heard the banker say, in a voice as if a tear had choked it:

“Carter, you’re mighty good stuff and I like you. What you’ve taught me to-night I’ll never forget. Katy never had a mother, and I know now she’s never had a home. Good-night.”

“Come, Katy, I guess I’ll carry you, little girl–” and he picked up the child, wound her reluctant arms about his neck, and went out into the night.