On the fifth of October, 1809, Theo was reinstalled at the Oaks after a summer of short trips in search of coolness and health. Debordieu had not seemed to answer. It had been oppressed this year by a nearly constant land breeze tainted with the swamps. She had gathered up Gampy and Eleanore and a handful of servants and tried various up-country resorts in the Carolinas—Rocky River Springs, Greenville, Cheva-los—without finding permanent relief at any of them.

Now, with cooler weather, her spirits lightened a little. It was not disagreeable to rest at the Oaks. It was the hour for lessons. She and Gampy were secluded in the library. The seven-year-old was hunched over his little desk, laboriously writing at her dictation.

'Amo, amas, amat,' said Theo. 'Take heed, darling. You will have to recite all this from memory presently.'

He nodded, frowning with concentration.

I shall have to get him a tutor soon, she thought. He learns so rapidly that he will be beyond me.

She looked at the curly brown head proudly. If only her father might see him now. She treasured every one of Gampy's sayings and precocious doings to send to Aaron, who never failed to comment on each one with lively interest. Even three thousand miles away he showed more interest in the boy than did Joseph, she thought, not quite justly. Joseph was fond of his son; yet he saw him but seldom, and he did not understand that severe displays of paternal authority frightened the little boy, who kept out of his way as much as possible.

'Now conjugate the whole verb for me,' she suggested, seeing that he had finished.

Gampy had obediently begun, when they were both startled as a shrill scream came from the porch outside, followed by the excited chatter of negro voices.

' What in the world——' began Theo, laying down her Latin grammar.

The door burst open, and Eleanore rushed in, cap awry, gesticulating wildly. 'O Madame, il y a un sauvage dans le jardin!'

Mother and son stared, Gampy's eyes round with excitement.

Then Theo laughed. 'Nonsense, Eleanore. There are no Indians on the Waccamaw.'

'Moi-même, je l'ai vu! He is vilain et féroce, with fezzers in his hair, and a gun. Mon Dieu, he will shoot us all.'

'I hardly think so, Eleanore. But, come, show me this Indian.'

'Me, too, Mama. Let me come, too,' wailed Gampy, as she motioned him to stay there. 'I want to see an Indian.'

'If he is a friendly one, I will call you,' she promised.

The shrinking Eleanore led the way to the porch. 'Voilà, Madame!' She pointed a trembling finger.