'Well, I don't want to be languid,' said Miss Birdseye. 'Besides, I have been down South, in the old times, and I can't say they let me sleep very much; they were always round after me!'
'Do you mean on account of the negroes?'
'Yes, I couldn't think of anything else then. I carried them the Bible.'
Ransom was silent a moment; then he said, in a tone which evidently was carefully considerate, 'I should like to hear all about that!'
'Well, fortunately, we are not required now; we are required for something else.' And Miss Birdseye looked at him with a wandering, tentative humour, as if he would know what she meant.
'You mean for the other slaves!' he exclaimed, with a laugh. 'You can carry them all the Bibles you want.'
'I want to carry them the Statute-book; that must be our Bible now.'
Ransom found himself liking Miss Birdseye very much, and it was quite without hypocrisy or a tinge too much of the local quality in his speech that he said: 'Wherever you go, madam, it will matter little what you carry. You will always carry your goodness.'
For a minute she made no response. Then she murmured: 'That's the way Olive Chancellor told me you talked.'
'I am afraid she has told you little good of me.'
'Well, I am sure she thinks she is right.'
'Thinks it?' said Ransom. 'Why, she knows it, with supreme certainty! By the way, I hope she is well.'
Miss Birdseye stared again. 'Haven't you seen her? Are you not visiting?'
'Oh no, I am not visiting! I was literally passing her house when I met you.'
'Perhaps you live here now,' said Miss Birdseye. And when he had corrected this impression, she added, in a tone which showed with what positive confidence he had now inspired her, 'Hadn't you better drop in?'
'It would give Miss Chancellor no pleasure,' Basil Ransom rejoined. 'She regards me as an enemy in the camp.'
