Vi’s tears were dried and when her father came in she met him with a cheerful face, quite ready for the customary romp, but days passed ere she was again her own bright, merry self, or seemed content unless clinging close to one or the other of her parents.

While the family were at the breakfast table, Uncle Joe came in with the mail, his face full of excitement and terror.

“Dem Ku Kluxes dey’s gettin’ awful dangerous, Massa,” he said, laying down the bag with a trembling hand, “dey’s gone an’ shot the stage drivah an’ killed ‘um dead on the spot.  Las’ night, sah, jes ober yondah in de road todder side o’ Mars Leland’s place, and—­”

Mr. Travilla stopped him in the midst of his story, with a warning gesture and an anxious glance from one to another of the wondering, half frightened little faces about the table.

“Another time and place, Uncle Joe.”

“Yes, sah, beg pardon, sah, Massa Edard,” and the old man, now growing quite infirm from age, hobbled away talking to himself.  “Sure nuff, you ole fool, Joe, might ‘a knowed you shouldn’t tole no such tings fo’ de chillum.”

“Was it ’bout my dream, papa?” Vi asked with quivering lip and fast filling eyes.

“Never mind, little daughter; we needn’t trouble about our dreams,” he said cheerily, and began talking of something else, in a lively strain that soon set them all to laughing.

It was not until family worship was over and the children had left the room that he said to his wife, “The Ku Klux were abroad last night and I have no doubt Uncle Joe’s story is quite true, and that our poor little Vi really saw the murder.”

Elsie gave him a startled, inquiring look.  “You have other proof?”

“Yes; Leland and I met in going our rounds this morning, and he told me he had found a threatening note, signed ‘K.K.K,’ tacked to his gate, and had torn it down immediately, hoping to conceal the matter from his wife, who, he says is growing nervously fearful for his safety.”

“Oh, what a dreadful state of things!  Do these madmen realize that they are ruining their country?”

“Little they care for that, if they can but gain their ends,—­the subversion of the Government, and the return of the negro to his former state of bondage.”

She was standing by his side, her hand on his arm.  “My husband,” she said in trembling tones, looking up into his face with brimming eyes, “what may they not do next?  I begin to fear for you and my father and brother.”

“I think you need not, little wife,” he said, drawing her head to a resting place on his shoulder, and passing his hand caressingly over her hair, “I think they will hardly meddle with us, natives of the place, and men of wealth and influence.  And,” he added low and reverently, “are we not all in the keeping of Him without whom not one hair of our heads can fall to the ground?”

“Yes, yes, I will trust and not be afraid,” she answered, smiling sweetly through her tears.  Then catching sight, through the open window, of a couple of horsemen coming up the avenue, “Ah, there are papa and Horace now!” she cried, running joyfully out to meet them.