Some little distance to the left, in a slight hollow and half hidden by an overgrowth of laurels, stood a row of one-story weather-beaten buildings--the old negro cabins, left over from the slave days.
"It's just as I remember it!" I exclaimed delightedly as I noted one familiar object after another.

"Nothing has changed." "Nothing does change in the South," said Radnor, "except the people, and I suppose they change everywhere." "And those are the deserted negro cabins ?" I added, my eye resting on the cluster of gray roofs showing above the shrubbery.
"Just at present they are not so deserted as we should like," he returned with a suggestive undertone in his voice.

"You visit the plantation at an interesting time.

The Gaylord ha'nt has reappeared." "The Gaylord ha'nt!" I exclaimed in astonishment.

"What on earth is that ?" Radnor laughed.
"One of our godless ancestors once beat a slave to death and his ghost comes back, off and on, to haunt the negro cabins.