"An' ef you wan' sech a crazy ol' fool, you'd come along wid me, too."

At this combination of temptation and insult Uncle Billy's eyes narrowed
with contempt and loathing. "Me?" he said, and a rigid arm pointed back
at the house which had been for years his source of shelter and comfort.
"Me leave Miss Hallie _now_? Right when she ain't got _nothin_'? Look
heah, nigger; dog-gone yo' skin, I got a great min' for to mash yo'
mouf. Yas, I _is_ a slave. I b'longs to Mars Cary--an' I b'longed to his
pa befo' him. Dey feed me and gimme de bes' dey got. Dey take care of me
when I'm sick--an' dey take care of me when I'm well--an' _I_ gwine to
stay right here. But you? You jes' go on wid de Yankees, an' black der
boots. Dey'll free you," and Uncle Billy's voice rose in prophetic
tones--"an you'll _keep on_ blackin' boots! Go 'long now, you low-down,
dollar-an'-a-quarter nigger!" as Jeems Henry backed away. "Go long wid
yo' _Yankee_ marsters--and git yo' freedom an' a blackin' brush."

So engrossed were both the actors in this drama that they failed to
hear the sound of footsteps on the veranda, and it was so that the
mistress of the manor found the would-be runaway and the old slave,
glaring into each other's eyes and insulting one another volubly.

Mrs. Cary, with her workbasket on her arm, paused at the top of the
steps and regarded the angry pair with well-bred surprise.

"Why, Uncle Billy," she queried, "what is going on here? What _is_ the
matter?"

"It's Jeems Henry; dat's what's de matter," said Uncle Billy, in defense
of his agitation. "He's runnin' 'way to de Yankees."