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CHAPTER VIII. A CRY IN THE NIGHT. "I think Miss Jinny has hurt her hand, Miss Pat," she said with exaggerated anxiety. "She's got her handkerchief wrapped about it. I hope it isn't badly hurt—she doesn't look as if it were inimical, does she?" "Then you know more than I do," replied David, with all the appearance of truth. "My knowledge extends only to the death; not to the seizure of the body.".

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Miss Jinny laughed, as she shook out a creased skirt, and laid it carefully in the long lower drawer. Miss Jinny said not a word for what seemed to Patricia a very long minute; then she gave her deep chuckle and said decisively, "I'll go as Sinbad the Sailor. I've a picture of him at home, and I know just how he's dressed. He's so everlastingly muffled up about his shanks that I used to think he was a lady when I was knee high to a grasshopper." "Is dere poison in de bag, white man?" After a great deal of good-humored bickering and sifting of requests to suit Patricia's repertoire, the tumult gradually quieted and Patricia rose..