nd then breaking into the most boisterous of
laughs, "Seems like we's all ob us, ebery one, free as Sarp hisse'f.
Mas'r Linkum say so. Yah, ha, ha!"

"Linkum!" said Flor. "Who dat ar? Some o' yer poor w'ite trash? Mas'r
Henry doan' say so!"

"W'a' 's de matter wid dat ar boy Sarp, Zoe?" recommenced Flor, after a
pause. "Mus' hab wanted suffin,--powerful,--to lib in de swamp, hab de
dogs after him, an' a bullet troo de head mos' likely."

"Jus' dat. Wanted him freedom," said Zoe suddenly, with crackling
stress, her eyes getting angry in their fervor, as she went on. "Wanted
him body for him own. Tired o' usin' 'noder man's eyes, 'noder man's
han's. Wanted him han's him own, wanted him heart him own! Had n' no
breff to breathe 'cep' w'at Mas'r Henry gib out. Di'n' t'ink no t'oughts
but Mas'r Henry's. Wanted him wife some day to hisse'f, wanted him
chillen for him own property. Wanted to call no man mas'r but de Lord in
heaben!"

"Wy, Maum Zoe, how you talk! Sarp had n' no wife."

"Neber would, w'ile he wor a slave."

"Hist now, Zoe!" said the old woman.

"I jus' done b'lieve you's a bobolitionist!" said Flor, with wide eyes
and a battery of nods.

"No 'casion, no 'casion," said Zoe, with the deep inner chuckle again.
"We's done 'bolished,--dat's w'at we is! We's a free people now. No more
work for de 'bominationists!" And on the point of uncontrollable
hilarity, she checked herself with the dignity becoming her new
position. "You's your own nigger now, Salome," said she.

"We? No, t'ank you. I 'longs to Miss Emma."

"You haan' no understandin' for liberty, chil'. Seems ef 'twas like
religion"----

"Ef I wor to tell Mas'r Henry, oh, wouldn' you cotch it?"

"Go 'long!" cried Zoe, looking out for a missile. "Doan' ye bring no
more o' yer rabbits here, ef ye 'r' gwine to fetch an' carry"----

"Lors, Aunt Zoe, 'pears like you's out o' sorts. Haan' I got nof'n
berrer to do dan be tellin' tales ob old women dat's a-waitin' for de
Lord's salvation?" said Flor, with a twang of great gravity,--and
proceeded thereat to make her exit in a series of lively somersaults
through the room and over the threshold.

Aunt Zoe, who, ever since she had lost the use of her feet, had been a
little wild on the subject of freedom, knew very well within that Flor
would make no mischief for her; but, except for the excited state into
which the news brought by some mysterious plantation runner had thrown
her, she would scarcely have