"Don't you know that?" he queried.

"I'm only a canal hand," I answered, "going to a farm out on the
prairie, that I was euchred into taking in settling with a scoundrel for
my share of my father's property; and I'm pretty green."

Thatcher came in then, leading the little black boy by the hand, and
following him was the negro woman carrying a baby at her breast, and
holding by the hand a little woolly-headed pickaninny about three years
old. They were ragged and poverty-stricken, and seemed scared at
everything. The woman came in bowing and scraping to me, and the two
little boys hid behind her skirts and peeked around at me with big
white eyes.

"Tell the gentleman," said Thatcher, "where you're going."

"We're gwine to Canayda," said she, "'scusin' your presence."

"How are you going to get to Canada?" asked Thatcher.

"The good white folks," said she, "will keep us hid out nights till we
gits thar."

"What will happen," said Thatcher, "if this young man tells any one that
he's seen you?"

"The old massa," said she, "will find out, an' he'll hunt us wif houn's,
an' fotch us back', and then he'll sell us down the ribber to the
cotton-fiel's."