overseer.

The death of his master had brought him to the auction-block, from which,
both he and his mother were sold to separate owners. There they took their
last embrace of each other--the mother tearless, but heart-broken--the boy
with all the wildest manifestations of grief.

His purchaser was a cotton broker from New Orleans, a warm-hearted, kind
old man, who took a fancy to the boy's looks, and pitied him for his
unfortunate separation from his mother. After paying for his new purchase,
he drew him aside, and said, in a kind tone, "Come, my little man, stop
crying; my boys never cry. If you behave yourself you shall have fine times
with me. Stop crying now, and come with me; I am going to buy you a new
suit of clothes."

"I don't want new clothes--I want my mammy," exclaimed the child, with a
fresh burst of grief.

"Oh dear me!" said the fussy old gentleman, "why can't you stop--I don't
want to hear you cry. Here," continued he, fumbling in his pocket--"here's
a picayune."

"Will that buy mother back?" said the child brightening up.

"No, no, my little man, not quite--I wish it would. I'd purchase the old
woman; but I can't--I'm not able to spare the money."

"Then I don't want it," cried the boy, throwing the money on the ground.
"If it won't buy mammy, I don't want it. I want my mammy, and nothing
else."