"Yassir, en now dey's done hit. My po' ole man. I wish I'd a been better ter 'im. Lawd Jesus, help me now!"
Eve knelt by the bed and laid her face against Nelse's while the tears rained down her black face.
"Aunt Eve, it may not be so bad," said the Preacher hopefully. "His pulse is getting stronger. He has an iron constitution. I believe he will pull through, if there are no internal injuries."
"Praise God! ef he do git well, I tell yer now, Marse John, I fling er spell on dem niggers bout dis!"
"I am afraid you can do nothing with them. The courts are all in the hands of these scoundrels, and the Governor of the state is at the head of the Leagues."
"I doan want no cotes, Marse John, I'se cote ennuf. I kin cunjure dem niggers widout any cote."
The doctor pronounced his injuries dangerous but not necessarily fatal. Charlie and Dick watched with Eve that night until nearly midnight. Nelse opened his eyes, and saw the eager face of the boy, his eyes yet red from crying.
"I aint dead, honey!" he moaned.
"Oh! Nelse, I'm so glad!"
"Doan you believe I gwine die! I gwine ter git eben wid dem niggers 'fore I leab dis worl'."
Nelse spoke feebly, but there was a way about his saying it that boded no good to his enemies, and Eve was silent. As Nelse improved, Eve's wrath steadily rose.
The next day she met in the street one of the negroes who had threatened Nelse.
"How's Mistah Gaston dis mawnin' M'am?" he asked.
Without a word of warning she sprang on him like a tigress, bore him to the ground, grasped him by the throat and pounded his head against a stone. She would have
