Berry had not the slightest idea as she sped along through the darkness that close behind her came Lily; or that, when the voice had called, “Halt!” Lily, trembling with terror, had nevertheless moved a step nearer to her little mistress, ready, if need be, to risk any danger to herself in defense of Berry. She had been so frightened at Berry’s question that it was a wonder she had not screamed aloud; but when Orson responded, calling Berry “Boy,” Lily regained her courage.
“Dat ain’ no witch!” she promptly decided; for the negroes of the Southern plantations firmly believed in the existence of unseen creatures, which they called witches, that knew far more than mortals; and Lily was sure that a true witch could not be deceived, and instantly she remembered the man Berry had met at the brook and whom they had seen at his forest camp.
“I reckon dat man am a makin’ believe jes’ ter skeer my Missie, or else he be up to somethin’,” decided Lily; and, as Berry turned toward home, Lily moved quickly after the shadowy figure that was rapidly making its way from tree to tree.
It did not take Lily long to discover that she was right in her suspicion, and to recognize the tall, shadowy figure as that of the woodsman whom she had seen roasting a partridge near the ledge where she had discovered Berry.
“De misserbul critter,” Lily muttered angrily to herself; “an’ who know w’ot place he wan’ my missie ter kerry a letter to? I jes’ kal’ate I’ll get dat air letter,” and Lily now hastened after Berry, reaching the cabin just in time to see her young mistress clamber into the open window.
With a sigh of relief Lily crept silently to her own room. Although she had gone to sleep very early that evening she had awakened an hour before Berry left the cabin, and, prompted by a vague fear in regard to the safety of her young mistress, Lily had cautiously made her way through the shadowy rooms to the door of Berry’s chamber and curled herself up there. Her quick ear had instantly followed Berry’s movement toward the window, and she had been close behind the adventurous little girl as Berry scrambled down the trunk of the oak tree.
Both the girls slept late the next morning, and Mrs. Arnold watched Berry a little anxiously, for the little girl seemed unusually serious. “I believe Berry misses Mollie Bragg more than we have realized,” she said to Mr. Arnold, after Berry had gone out to work in her garden, where the iris was already several inches high and where the transplanted butterwort was in blossom.