is
that you?" "Yes, sah, Marse Ben," returned the Negro. "I comin' ter make
ma report." Ben Hartright intercepted Sauls as he placed his foot upon
the door sill and drew him aside. "Say, Calvin, I saw you talking to a
rather striking looking colored girl the other day; who is she? Can't
you fix it so I can get an interview?" "Uh, uh," said Sauls, shaking his
head. "Dat's Bob Sims' gal; she jes from college, an' she's all right
now, I tell yer. You know dem Simses is top er de pot Niggers." "That's
the kind I always play for, Calvin; you know me," answered Ben.
"Gentlemen must always have the best, ding it all! I though you were
sufficiently well bred to know that the best of everything in this world
is for white people." "Dat's so," said Sauls, "but yo member dat time
Bob Sims cum nie beat'n dat white man head off bout insult'n dat tudder
gal er his. I feared mon." "That's all right, Calvin; I'll stand by you.
Molly's gone back on me now; I'm afraid she's converted and joined the
sanctified band. By thunder, she defied me the other night." "Yes, sah,
an' she's in yernes', too; she's on de warpath fur true. I got er heap
ter report ter night, so I see you later on dat udder matter." And Sauls
pushed past Hartright and made his way into the club room.

CHAPTER XI.

Uncle Guy.

On looking over the list of Wilmingtons' personages who have been
instrumental in moulding its character and making it one of the most
desirable places on earth, and the memory of whose face and name revive
the sweetest recollections of early youth in the dear old town, the name
and face of Uncle Guy comes most vividly before me.

In ante-bellum days in the South, one week in all the year was given by
the master to the slave--a week of absolute freedom, in which the Negro,
unrestrained, danced and frolicked and otherwise amused himself to his
heart's content. This season of freedom commenced with the dawn of
Christmas, and lasted until the beginning of the New Year. The slave
heard not the story of the Christ, of the wise men, or the shepherds of
Bethlehem; he saw no Christmas tree brilliant with tapers even in the
home of his master. For, unlike Christmas observances in the North, full
of solemnity and historic significance, the Southern Christmas was and
is still a kind of Mardi Gras festival, ending with the dawn of the New
Year. Early on each Christmas morning the slaves, old and young, little
and big, gathered at the door of the "B