wo stories, eight
rooms, and front and back piazzas, supported by slender white posts or
columns. It is the old William Douglas homestead, now owned by John D.
Mobley. He rents it to Philip Moore, a well behaved Negro citizen, who,
out of respect for his mother-in-law, Eliza, supports her in the sore
trials and helplessness of blindness and old age. The home is five miles
southeast of Blackstock, S.C.

"Boss, you is a good lookin' man, from de sound of your voice. Blind
folks has ways of findin' out things that them wid sight know nothin'
'bout and nobody can splain. De blindness sharpens de hearin', 'creases
de tech, prickles de skin, quickens de taste, and gives you de nose of a
setter, pointer or hound dog. Was I always blind? Jesus, no! I just got
de 'fliction several years ago. I see well enough, when I was a young
gal, to pick out a preacher for my fust husband. So I did! How many
times I been married? Just two times; both husbands dead. Tell you 'bout
them directly.

"What dat? Er ha, ha, ha, ha, er ha, ha, ha! Oh Jesus, you makes me
laugh, white folks! De idea of my lossin' my sight a lookin' 'round for
a third husband! You sho' is agreeable. Ain't been so tickled since de
secon' time I was a widow. You know my secon' husband was bad after
blind tiger liquor, and harlot eyed, brassy, hussy women.

"Well, I comes down to Winnsboro today to see, I should say to find out,
'cause you know I can't see, 'bout de pension they is givin' out to de
aged and blind. My white folks say dat you wanna see me and here I is.

"Yes sir, I was born two miles south of Woodward and one mile south of
old Yonguesville, on de Sterling place. I born a slave of old Marse John
Sterling. Him have a head as red as a pecker-wood bird dat just
de-sash-sheys 'round de top of dead trees, and make sich a
rat-ta-ta-tapple after worms. His way of gittin' his meat for dinner. My
mistress name Betsy. Deir fust child was Robert, dat never marry; him
teach nearly every school in Fairfield County, off and on befo' he died.
Then dere was young Marster Tom, small little man, dat carry his
Seceeder 'ligion so far, him become 'furiated and carry dat 'ligion
right up and into de Secession War. Make a good soldier, too! General
Bratton call him, 'My Little Jackass of de Sharp Shooters'! Marse Tom
proud of dat name, from de mouth of a great man lak General John
Bratton.

"Marse Tom heard de fust gun fire at Fort Sumter, and laid down his gun,
him say, u