“Thank God they are not coming here!” ejaculated Mrs. Travilla, in low, reverent, grateful tones.

“Hark, mamma, papa, I hear cries and screams!” exclaimed little Elsie.  “Oh it must be some of the poor women and children coming up from the quarter!”

As the child spoke there came a quick sharp tap, that seemed to tell of fright and excitement, at the outer door of the suite of apartments, and an old servant, hardly waiting for the permission to enter, thrust in his head, saying in tremulous tones, “Mars Ed’ard, de people’s all comin’ up from de quarter, an’ knockin’ an’ cryin’ to get in.  Dere’s been awful times down dere; de Ku Klu—­”

“Yes, yes, Jack, I know; but be quiet or you’ll wake the children.  Open the hall door and let the poor things in, of course,” said Mr. Travilla, “and I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Plenty room on de back veranda, Mars Ed’ard, an’ ‘tween dat an’ de kitchen.”

“Very well, they’ll be safe there, but if they don’t feel so let them into the hall.”

“Yes, sah.”

The head was withdrawn, the door closed, and Jack’s shuffling feet could be heard descending the stairs.

Mr. and Mrs. Travilla, having each completed a hasty toilet, were about to go down; but little Elsie clung to her mother.

“Mamma, mamma, don’t go and leave me! please let me go too.”

“My darling, you would be quite safe here; and it is much earlier than your usual hour for rising.”

“But day is breaking, mamma, and I could not sleep any more:  besides maybe I could help to comfort them.”

“I think she could,” said her father, and mamma gave consent at once.

They found the back veranda, the kitchen, and the space between, filled with an excited crowd of blacks, old and young, talking, gesticulating, crying, moaning and groaning.

“De Ku Klux, de Ku Klux!” was on every tongue.

“Tell ye what, darkies,” one was saying, “dey’s debbils! why two ob dem stop befo’ my doah an’ say ’You black rascal, give us some watah! quick now fo’ we shoot you tru the head’:  den I hand up a gourd full—­’bout a quart min’ yo’,—­an de fust snatch it an’ pour it right down his troat, an’ hand de gourd back quick’s a flash; den he turn roun’ an’ ride off, while I fill de gourd for de udder, an’ he do jes de same.  Tell ye what dey’s debbils! didn’t you see de horns, an’ de big red tongues waggin’?”

There was a murmur of assent, and a shudder ran through the throng.  But Mr. Travilla’s voice was heard in cheerful reassuring tones.

“No, boys, they are men, though they do the work of devils.  I have seen their disguise, and under that long red tongue, which is made of flannel, and moved by the wearer’s real tongue, there is a leather bag, inside of the disguise—­and into it they pour the water; not down their throats.”

“Dat so, Mars Ed’ard?” cried several, drawing a long breath of relief.