Tom Anderson hesitated a moment, and then said:--

"Now, boys, I'll tell you all 'bout it. But you's got to be mighty mum
'bout it. It won't do to let de cat outer de bag."

"Dat's so! But tell us wat you yered. We ain't gwine to say nuffin to
nobody."

"Well," said Tom, "las' night ole Marster had company. Two big
ginerals, and dey was hoppin' mad. One ob dem looked like a turkey
gobbler, his face war so red. An' he sed one ob dem Yankee ginerals, I
thinks dey called him Beas' Butler, sed dat de slaves dat runned away
war some big name--I don't know what he called it. But it meant dat all
ob we who com'd to de Yankees should be free."

"Contraband of war," said Robert, who enjoyed the distinction of being a
good reader, and was pretty well posted about the war. Mrs. Johnson had
taught him to read on the same principle she would have taught a pet
animal amusing tricks. She had never imagined the time would come when
he would use the machinery she had put in his hands to help overthrow
the institution to which she was so ardently attached.

"What does it mean? Is it somethin' good for us?"

"I think," said Robert, a little vain of his superior knowledge, "it is
the best kind of good. It means if two armies are fighting and the
horses of one run away, the other has a right to take them. And it is
just the same if a slave runs away from the Secesh to the Union lines.
He is called a contraband, just the same as if he were an ox or a horse.