r; "you must
own I've come down pretty handsomely for him."

"What on earth can you want with the child?" said Shelby.

"Why, I've got a friend that's going into this yer branch of the
business--wants to buy up handsome boys to raise for the market. Fancy
articles entirely--sell for waiters, and so on, to rich 'uns, that
can pay for handsome 'uns. It sets off one of yer great places--a real
handsome boy to open door, wait, and tend. They fetch a good sum; and
this little devil is such a comical, musical concern, he's just the
article!'

"I would rather not sell him," said Mr. Shelby, thoughtfully; "the fact
is, sir, I'm a humane man, and I hate to take the boy from his mother,
sir."

"O, you do?--La! yes--something of that ar natur. I understand,
perfectly. It is mighty onpleasant getting on with women, sometimes, I
al'ays hates these yer screechin,' screamin' times. They are _mighty_
onpleasant; but, as I manages business, I generally avoids 'em, sir.
Now, what if you get the girl off for a day, or a week, or so; then the
thing's done quietly,--all over before she comes home. Your wife might
get her some ear-rings, or a new gown, or some such truck, to make up
with her."

"I'm afraid not."

"Lor bless ye, yes! These critters ain't like white folks, you know;
they gets over things, only manage right. Now, they say," said Haley,
assuming a candid and confidential air, "that this kind o' trade is
hardening to the feelings; but I never found it so. Fact is, I never
could do things up the way some fellers manage the business. I've seen
'em as would pull a woman's child out of her arms, and set him up
to sell, and she screechin' like mad all the time;--very bad
policy--damages the article--makes 'em quite unfit for service
sometimes. I knew a real handsome gal once, in Orleans, as was entirely
ruined by this sort o' handling. The fellow that was trading for her
didn't want her baby; and she was one of your real high sort, when her
blood was up. I tell you, she squeezed up her child in her arms, and
talked, and went on real awful. It kinder makes my blood run cold to
think of 't; and when they carried off the child, and locked her up,
she jest went ravin' mad, and died in a week. Clear waste, sir, of a
thousand dollars, just for want of management,--there's where 't
is. It's always best to do the humane thing, sir; that's been _my_
experience." And the trader leaned back in his chair, and folded his
arm, with an air