eet!" Sure enough, they seemed
to stretch back too far, and they were immense.

He took supper with us, and then father and Ben both went over to his
future home with him, and introduced him to Aunt Peg and Plint. He was
to work for father, and would be over in the "mornin'," he said.

"I wonder if he was a slave, Emily?" said Ben.

"I think so," said I. "We will question him to-morrow if we get a
chance," and we did, for the day was stormy, and father did not go to
the woods, but kept Matthias at work in the barn cleaning up, etc. About
four o'clock his work was finished, and we invited him to come in and
sit awhile.

"Now, Ben," I said, and we seated ourselves for a conference.

"Mr. Jones," said I, "you came from the South, did you?"

"'Pears like I did, Miss, an' it's a mighty cool country yere; I'm nigh
froze in de winter, I is sartin."

"Were you a slave?"

"Yes'm," and the old man gave a long sigh.

"Would you mind telling us about it? Ben and I never saw a person before
from the South."

"Never did? There's a heap on 'em, wud 'jes like ter see ye. Long time
awaitin', but de promise ov de Massa mus' be true," and again a
thoughtful look came over his dusky face. "I don't mind tellin' ye a
little if I ken. I was a slave in Carlina, an' I had a good massa, Miss;
a fus-rate man, but he done tuk sick an' died, an' then--wh-e-ew," and
he gave a long, low whistle, "thar cum sich a time thar; de ole woman
she done no nuthin' 'bout de biznis, an' de big son he sell all de
niggers an' get _all_ de money, an' dars whar my trubbel begin. De nex'
massa had de debbil fur his father, sure; nothin' go rite; made me go
an' marry, fus thing, an' to a gal I didn't like, nohow. Little niggers
come along, an' I done bes' I cud by 'em, but what cud I do? Nothin' at
all; an' fus thing I knew--he'd done gone an' sold ebery one ob dat
family, and den he mus' hab me marry agin. Dis secon' marriage was
better'n that; fur I did like de gal mighty well. 'Pears like we's
gwine to take sum comfort, and when we'd had de meetins to our cabin,
oh! how we did jes pray fur dat freedom we hear'm tell 'bout--pray mos'
too loud, for dat old Mas'r Sumner tink we's alltogeder too happy, an'
den, he up and sold dat pretty gal ob ourn, what was jes risin' uv her
fourth year, Miss, an' as pretty as could be. Dis broke my wife's heart,
an' den he sold one more to a trader; and not long fur de wife an' two
last' chilun was gone. Den I jes swore