while he was being dressed (not a long ceremony, for he wore but three garments) he clutched her while he had his bottle, he screamed if Derek touched her. And Derek would touch her just for the pleasure of hearing him yell.
After breakfast Derek carried him to the barn to weigh him. Annie, Lizzie, and Susy danced about the weighing scales singing:
"Buckskin weighs twenty pounds! Buckskin and Pegleg weigh twenty pounds."
"It's Christmas Day, Mister Vale," cried Lizzie, the prettiest of the three. "My brother Bill is goin' to take us to church."
"Where, then? To Mistwell?"
"No. To Stead. The niggers have got a church there. You know the nigger church?"
Derek had heard of it. Mrs. Machin had told him how, during the American Civil War, several southern families had taken refuge in the beautiful little village of Stead, a few miles east of Mistwell. When the war was over they had returned to their own country but, as the servants they had with them were now free, they left them behind in Stead, first providing them with cottages and situations. These slaves had been the nucleus of a respectable little coloured colony in Stead. They kept to themselves, were prosperous, prolific, and had their own pastor, whose collar and cuffs, it is safe to say, were whiter and shinier than those of any other minister in the village.
"To the nigger church," repeated Derek, looking at Lizzie, musingly. "Now, look here, if your mother and father are Indians, and you, yourself, go to the nigger church, I'd like to know what you are."
Lizzie's great eyes flashed up at him as she cried stoutly, "Me? I'm British!"
"Lizzie, you rebuke me," said Derek. "You're an in-
