de doctor while me en Nelse stay wid her. Run honey, day's nuttin' ter hurt yer."
His little bare feet were soon pattering over the long stretch of the back porch toward the barn. The night was clear and sky studded with stars. There was no moon. He was a brave little fellow, but a fear greater than all the terrors of ghosts and the white sheeted dead with which Negro superstition had filled his imagination, now nerved his child's soul. His mother was about to die! His very heart ceased to beat at the thought. He must bring the doctor and bring him quickly.
He flew to the stable not looking to the right or the left. The mare whinnied as he opened the door to get the bridle.
"It's me Bessie. Mama's sick. We must go for the doctor quick!"
The mare thrust her head obediently down to the child's short arm for the bridle. She seemed to know by some instinct his quivering voice had roused that the home was in distress and her hour had come to bear a part.
In a moment he led her out through the gate, climbed on the fence, and sprang on her back.
"Now, Bess, fly for me!" he half whispered, half cried through the tears he could no longer keep back. The mare bounded forward in a swift gallop as she felt his trembling bare legs clasp her side, and the clatter of her hoofs echoed in the boy's ears through the silent streets like the thunder of charging cavalry. How still the night! He saw shadows under the trees, shut his eyes and leaning low on the mare's neck patted her shoulders with his hands and cried,
"Faster. Bessie! Faster!" And then he tried to pray. "Lord don't let her die! Please, dear God, and I will
