or that matter, windows were useless, for the wide crevices in the
logs, which let in the air and rain, at the same time might admit the
light. Two or three low beds at one end, a small pine bench, which held
half a dozen wooden plates and spoons, and a large iron pot, resting on
four stones, over a low fire, and serving for both washtub and
cook-kettle, composed the furniture of each interior.

No one of the cabins was over sixteen feet square, but each was 'home'
and 'shelter' for three or four human beings. Walking on a short
distance, we came to a larger hovel, in front of which about a dozen
young chattels were playing. Seven or eight more, too young to walk,
were crawling about on the ground inside. They had only one garment
apiece--a long shirt of coarse linsey--and their heads and feet were
bare. An old negress was seated in the doorway, knitting. Approaching
her, I said:

'Aunty, are not these children cold?'

'Oh! no, massa; dey'm use' ter de wedder.'

'Do you take care of all of them?'

'In de daytime I does, massa. In de night dar mudders takes de small
'uns.'

'But some of them are white. Those two are as white as I am!'

'No, massa; dey'm brack. Ef you looks at dar eyes an' dar finger nails,
you'll see dat.'

'They're black, to be sure they are,' said young Preston, laughing; 'but
they're about as white as Dawsey, and look wonderfully like him--eh,
aunty Sue?'

'I reckons, massa Joe!' replied the woman, running her hand through her
wool, and grinning widely.

'What does he ask for _them_, aunty?'

'Doan't know, massa, but 'spect dey'm pooty high. Dem kine am hard ter
raise.'

'Yes,' said Joe; 'white blood--even Dawsey's--don't take naturally to
mud.'

'I reckons not, massa Joe!' said the old negress, with another grin.

Joe gave her a half-dollar piece, and, amid an avalanche of blessings,
we passed on to Dawsey's 'mansion'--if mansion it could be called--a
story-and-a-half shanty, about thirty feet square, covered with rough,
unpainted boards, and lit by two small, dingy windows. It was approached
by a sandy walk, and the ground around its front entrance was littered
with apple peelings, potato parings, and the refuse of the culinary
department.

Joe rapped at the door, and, in a moment, it opened, and a middle-aged
mulatto woman appeared. As soon as she perceived Preston, she grasped
his two hands, and exclaimed:

'Oh! massa Robert, _do_ buy har! Massa'll kill har, ef you doan't.'