"Mr. Chester, a woman would see with what a small outlay that is done.
She has that gift for the needle which a poet has for the pen."

"Ho! that's _charmingly_ antique. But now tell me how having a Yankee
grandmother caused her to drop in here just now. Your logic's dim."

"You are soon to go to Castanado's to see that manuscript story, are you
not?"

"Oh, is it a story? Have you read it?"

"Yes, I've read it, 'tis short. They wanted my opinion. And 'tis a
story, though true."

"A story! Love story? very absorbing?"

"No, it is not of love--except love of liberty. Whether 'twill absorb
you or no I cannot say. Me it absorbed because it is the story of some
of my race, far from here and in the old days, trying, in the old vain
way, to gain their freedom."

"Has--has mademoiselle read it?"

"Certainly. It is her property; hers and her two aunts'. Those two,
they bought it lately, of a poor devil--drinking man--for a dollar. They
had once known his mother, from the West Indies."

"He wrote it, or his mother?"