dance and the end of the day. He had always been a good hand, but now
he became a model--no shirking, no shiftlessness--and because he was
so earnest his master did what he could to help him. Numerous little
plans were formulated whereby the slave could make or save a precious
dollar.

Viney, too, seemed inspired by a new hope, and if this little house
had been pleasant to Ben, nothing now was wanting to make it a palace
in his eyes. Only one sorrow he had, and that one wrung hard at his
great heart--no baby came to them--but instead he made a great baby of
his wife, and went on his way hiding his disappointment the best he
could. The banjo was often silent now, for when he came home his
fingers were too stiff to play; but sometimes, when his heart ached
for the laughter of a child, he would take down his old friend and
play low, soothing melodies until he found rest and comfort.

Viney had once tried to console him by saying that had she had a child
it would have taken her away from her work, but he had only answered,
"We could a' stood that."

But Ben's patient work and frugality had their reward, and it was only
a little over three years after he had set out to do it that he put in
his master's hand the price of Viney's freedom, and there was sound of
rejoicing in the land. A fat shoat, honestly come by--for it was the
master's gift--was killed and baked, great jugs of biting persimmon
beer were brought forth, and the quarters held high carnival to
celebrate Viney's new-found liberty.

After the merrymakers had gone, and when the cabin was clear again,
Ben held out the paper that had been on exhibition all evening to