Ann and her baby returned to the house, but Uncle Snake-bit Bob, long
after the sun went down, still sat on his little bench in front of his
shop, his elbows on his knees, and his face buried in his hands; and
when it grew quite dark he rose, and put away his splits and his
baskets, saying to himself,

"Well, I know wat I'm gwine do; my min', hit's made up."




CHAPTER VIII.

UNCLE BOB'S PROPOSITION.


The night after Ann's interview with Uncle Bob, Major Waldron was
sitting in his library overlooking some papers, when some one knocked at
the door, and, in response to his hearty "Come in," Uncle Snake-bit Bob
entered.

"Ebenin' ter yer, marster," said the old man, scraping his foot and
bowing his head.

"How are you, Uncle Bob?" responded his master.

"I'm jes po'ly, thank God," replied Uncle Bob, in the answer invariably
given by Southern slaves to the query "How are you?" No matter if they
were fat as seals, and had never had a day's sickness in their lives,