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"Where are the mothers of all these babies, Darry?" I asked. "Dey's in de field, Miss Daisy. Home d'rectly." "Are they working like men, in the fields?" I asked. "Dey's all at work," said Darry. "Do they do the same work as the men?" "All alike, Miss Daisy." Darry's answers were not hearty.
And my thought went back now with great tenderness to mammy Theresa's rheumatism, which wanted flannel; to Maria's hyacinths, which were her great earthly interest, out of the things of religion; to Darry's lonely cottage, where he had no lamp to read the Bible o' nights, and no oil to burn in it.
"'Twarn't no count of a meetin'!" said Theresa, a little touch of scorn, or indignation, coming into her voice; "and Darry, he war in his own house prayin'. Dere warn't nobody dere, but Pete and ole 'Liza, and Maria, cook, and dem two Johns dat come from de lower plantation. Dey couldn't get a strong meetin' into Uncle Darry's house; 'tain't big enough to hold 'em."
Nevertheless, for this time I was willing to stop at the stables; but the pony had only just found how good it was to be moving, and he went by at full canter. Down the dell, through the quarters, past the cottages, till I saw Darry's house ahead of me, and began to think how I should get round again. At that pace I could not. Could I stop the fellow?
The ground about the negro cottages was kept neat; they were neatly built of stone and stood round the sides of a quadrangle; while on each side and below the wooded slopes of ground closed in the picture. Sunlight was streaming through and brightening up the cottages, and resting on Uncle Darry's swart face. Down through the sunlight I went to the cottages.
"Why, they would 'Iike' to do nothing. These black fellows are the laziest things living. They would 'like' to lie in the sun all day long." "What wages does Darry have?" I asked. "Now, Daisy, this is none of your business. Come, let us go into the house and let it alone." "I want to know, first," said I. "Daisy, I never asked. What have I to do with Darry's wages?"
And my thought went back now with great tenderness to Mammy Theresa's rheumatism, which wanted flannel; to Maria's hyacinths, which were her great earthly interest, out of the things of religion; to Darry's lonely cottage, where he had no lamp to read the Bible o' nights, and no oil to burn in it.
"Darry's place and yours," I said. "His place and mine! His place is a servant's, I take it, belonging to Rudolf Randolph, of Magnolia. I am the unworthy representative of an old Southern family, and a gentleman. What have you to say about that?" "He is a servant of the Lord of lords," I said; "and his Master loves him.
But he raised his voice to shout: "Dave! Oh, Dave! Come here! You, too, Greg." "Coming," came the call, in Darry's voice. The sound of running feet sounded on the road. Tag Mosher glanced uneasily about, as if meditating flight. Then his keen eyes scrutinized Prescott's face. "What's up?" demanded Dave, as, even in the darkness he caught sight of another figure.
Now, however, he was so indignant that he fairly sputtered, and the humorous side of the situation did not appeal to him. What Dick saw was that Dave stood with his back to the trunk of the tree. Around Darry's neck a noose was fast. Back of the prisoner the rope had been wrapped once around the trunk of the tree.
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