“Howdy, Uncle Jake?” they both answered pleasantly and in unison. “Sit down. Have you brought the watch?”

Uncle Jake chose a hard-bottom chair at a respectful distance, sat on the edge of it, and laid his hat carefully on the floor. The watch in its buckskin case he gripped tightly. He had not risked his life on the battlefield to rescue that watch from his “old marster’s” foes to hand it over to the enemy again without a struggle.

“Yes, suh; I got it in my hand, suh. I’m gwine give it to you right away in jus’ a minute. Old Missus told me to put it in young Marse Blandford’s hand and tell him to wear it for the family pride and honour. It was a mighty longsome trip for an old nigger man to make—ten thousand miles, it must be, back to Old Vi’ginia, suh. You’ve growed mightily, young marster. I wouldn’t have recognized you but for yo’ powerful resemblance to the old marster.”

With admirable diplomacy the old man kept his eyes roaming in the space between the two men. His words might have been addressed to either. Though neither wicked nor perverse, he was seeking for a sign.

Blandford and John exchanged winks.

“I reckon you done got you ma’s letter,” went on Uncle Jake. “She said she was gwine to write to you ’bout my comin’ along up this er-way.”

“Yes, yes, Uncle Jake,” said John briskly. “My cousin and I have just been notified to expect you. We are both Carterets, you know.”

“Although one of us,” said Blandford, “was born and raised in the North.”

“So if you will hand over the watch—” said John.

“My cousin and I—” said Blandford.

“Will then see to it—” said John.

“That comfortable quarters are found for you,” said Blandford.

With credible ingenuity, old Jake set up a cackling, high-pitched, protracted laugh. He beat his knee, picked up his hat and bent the brim in an apparent paroxysm of humorous appreciation. The seizure afforded him a mask behind which he could roll his eye impartially between, above, and beyond his two tormentors.

“I sees what!” he chuckled, after awhile. “You gen’lemen is tryin’ to have fun with the po’ old nigger. But you can’t fool old Jake. I knowed you, Marse Blandford, the minute I set eyes on you. You was a po’ skimpy little boy no mo’ than about fo-teen when you lef’ home to come No’th; but I knowed you the minute I sot eyes on you. You is the mawtal image of old marster. The other gen’lemen resembles you mightily, suh; but you can’t fool old Jake on a member of the Old Vi’ginia family. No, suh.”

At exactly the same time both Carterets smiled and extended a hand for the watch.

Uncle Jake’s wrinkled, black face lost the expression of amusement into which he had vainly twisted it. He knew that he was being teased, and that it made little real difference, as far as its safety went, into which of those outstretched hands he placed the family treasure. But it seemed to him that not only his own pride and loyalty but much of the Virginia Carterets’ was at stake. He had heard down South during the war about that other branch of the family that lived in the North and fought on “the yuther side,” and it had always grieved him. He had followed his “old marster’s” fortunes from stately luxury through war to almost poverty. And now, with the last relic and reminder of him, blessed by “old missus,”