As they passed along, they were met by another servant, who said in hurried tones, but with a glad accent in his voice:—­

“Did you see de fish in de market dis mornin’?  Oh, but dey war splendid, jis’ as fresh, as fresh kin be.”

“That’s the ticket,” said Robert, as a broad smile overspread his face.  “I’ll see you later.”

“Good mornin’, boys,” said another servant on his way to market.  “How’s eggs dis mornin’?”

“Fust rate, fust rate,” said Tom Anderson.  “Bob’s got it down fine.”

“I thought so; mighty long faces at de pos’-office dis mornin’; but I’d better move ’long,” and with a bright smile lighting up his face he passed on with a quickened tread.

There seemed to be an unusual interest manifested by these men in the state of the produce market, and a unanimous report of its good condition.  Surely there was nothing in the primeness of the butter or the freshness of the eggs to change careless looking faces into such expressions of gratification, or to light dull eyes with such gladness.  What did it mean?

During the dark days of the Rebellion, when the bondman was turning his eyes to the American flag, and learning to hail it as an ensign of deliverance, some of the shrewder slaves, coming in contact with their masters and overhearing their conversations, invented a phraseology to convey in the most unsuspected manner news to each other from the battle-field.  Fragile women and helpless children were left on the plantations while their natural protectors were at the front, and yet these bondmen refrained from violence.  Freedom was coming in the wake of the Union army, and while numbers deserted to join their forces, others remained at home, slept in their cabins by night and attended to their work by day; but under this apparently careless exterior there was an undercurrent of thought which escaped the cognizance of their masters.  In conveying tidings of the war, if they wished to announce a victory of the Union army, they said the butter was fresh, or that the fish and eggs were in good condition.  If defeat befell them, then the butter and other produce were rancid or stale.

Entering his home, Robert set his basket down.  In one arm he held a bundle of papers which he had obtained from the train to sell to the boarders, who were all anxious to hear from the seat of battle.  He slipped one copy out and, looking cautiously around, said to Linda, the cook, in a low voice:—­

“Splendid news in the papers.  Secesh routed.  Yankees whipped ’em out of their boots.  Papers full of it.  I tell you the eggs and the butter’s mighty fresh this morning.”

“Oh, sho, chile,” said Linda, “I can’t read de newspapers, but ole Missus’ face is newspaper nuff for me.  I looks at her ebery mornin’ wen she comes inter dis kitchen.  Ef her face is long an’ she walks kine o’ droopy den I thinks things is gwine wrong for dem.  But ef she comes out yere looking mighty pleased, an’ larffin all ober her face, an’ steppin’ so frisky, den I knows de Secesh is gittin’ de bes’ ob de Yankees.  Robby, honey, does you really b’lieve for good and righty dat dem Yankees is got horns?”