it fer de sake er de fam'ly honuh, dat Mars
John sets so much sto' by, an' ter save his feelin's; fer de doctuh says
he mus'n' git ixcited 'bout nothin', er it mought bring on another
stroke."

"That's right, Sandy," replied Tom approvingly; "but the family honor is
as safe in my hands as in grandfather's own, and I'm going to use the
money for an excellent purpose, in fact to relieve a case of genuine
distress; and I'll hand it back to you in a day or two,--perhaps
to-morrow. Fetch me the money, Sandy,--that's a good darky!"

"All right, Mistuh Tom, you shill have de money; but I wants ter tell
you, suh, dat in all de yeahs I has wo'ked fer yo' gran'daddy, he has
never called me a 'darky' ter my face, suh. Co'se I knows dere's w'ite
folks an' black folks,--but dere's manners, suh, dere's manners, an'
gent'emen oughter be de ones ter use 'em, suh, ef dey ain't ter be
fergot enti'ely!"

"There, there, Sandy," returned Tom in a conciliatory tone, "I beg your
pardon! I've been associating with some Northern white folks at the
hotel, and picked up the word from them. You're a high-toned colored
gentleman, Sandy,--the finest one on the footstool."

Still muttering to himself, Sandy retired to his own room, which was in
the house, so that he might be always near his master. He soon returned
with a time-stained leather pocket-book and a coarse-knit cotton sock,
from which two receptacles he painfully extracted a number of bills and
coins.

"You count dat, Mistuh Tom, so I'll know how much I'm lettin' you have."

"This isn't worth anything," said Tom, pushing aside one roll of bills.
"It's Confederate money."

"So it is, suh. It ain't wuth nothin' now; but it has be'n money, an'
who kin tell but what it mought be money agin? De rest er dem bills is
greenbacks,--dey'll pass all right, I reckon."

The good money amounted to about fifty dollars, which Delamere thrust
eagerly into his pocket.

"You won't say anything to grandfather about this, will you, Sandy," he
said, as he turned away.

"No, suh, co'se I won't! Does I ever tell 'im 'bout yo' gwines-on? Ef I
did," he added to himself, as the young man disappeared down the street,
"I wouldn' have time ter do nothin' e'se ha'dly. I don' know whether
I'll ever see dat money agin er no, do' I 'magine de ole gent'eman
wouldn' lemme lose it ef he knowed. But I ain' gwine ter tell him,
whether I git my money back er no, fer he is jes' so wrop' up in dat boy
dat I b'lieve it