"Go long wid yo' _Yankee_ marsters--and git yo' freedom an' a blackin' brush." So engrossed were both the actors in this drama that they failed to hear the sound of footsteps on the veranda, and it was so that the mistress of the manor found the would-be runaway and the old slave, glaring into each other's eyes and insulting one another volubly.
Mrs.Cary, with her workbasket on her arm, paused at the top of the steps and regarded the angry pair with well-bred surprise.
"Why, Uncle Billy," she queried, "what is going on here?
What _is_ the matter ?" "It's Jeems Henry; dat's what's de matter," said Uncle Billy, in defense of his agitation.

"He's runnin' 'way to de Yankees." Mrs.Cary stopped short for a moment and then came slowly down the steps.
"Oh, James," she said, unbelievingly.

"Is this really true ?" Jeems Henry hung his head and dug at the gravel with his toe.
"I'm sorry," said Mrs.Cary, and the word held a world of painful thought--of self-accusation, of hopeless regret, of sorrow for one who could be so foolishly misguided.

"I'm sorry not only for ourselves but for _you_.

You know, I promised Mammy before she died that I would look after you--always." Still Jeems Henry made no answer and old Uncle Billy saw fit to make a disclosure.
"He's gwine up to Chickahominy." Then to Jeems Henry he added something in low tones which made the young negro's eyes roll wildly with fear.
"Dey tells me dat der's _hants_ and _ghoses_ over dar.