the answer was always the same--"I'm po'ly, thank God."

"Well, Uncle Bob, what is it now?" asked Major Waldron. "The little
negroes been bothering your splits again?"

"Dey's all de time at dat, marster, an' dey gwine git hu't, mun, ef dey
fool long o' me; but den dat ain't wat I come fur dis time. I come fur
ter hab er talk wid yer, sar, ef yer kin spar de ole nigger de time."

"There's plenty of time, Uncle Bob; take a seat, then, if we are to have
a talk;" and Major Waldron lit his cigar, and leaned back, while Uncle
Bob seated himself on a low chair, and said:

"Marster, I come ter ax yer wat'll yer take fur dat little boy yer
bought fum de specerlaters?"

"Ann's little boy?" asked his master; "why, I would not sell him at all.
I only bought him because his mother was dying of exposure and fatigue,
and I wanted to relieve her mind of anxiety on his account. I would
certainly never sell her child away from her."

"Yes, sar, dat's so," replied the old man; "but den my min', hit's made
up. I've laid me up er little money fum time ter time, wen I'd be er
doct'in' uv hosses an' mules an' men'in' cheers, an' all sich ez dat; de
folks dey pays me lib'ul; an', let erlone dat, I'm done mighty well wid
my taters an' goobers, er sellin' uv 'em ter de steamboat han's, wat
takes 'em ter de town, an' 'sposes uv 'em. So I'm got er right smart
chance uv money laid up, sar; an' now I wants ter buy me er nigger, same
ez wite folks, fur ter wait on me an' bresh my coat an' drive my
kerridge; an' I 'lowed ef yer'd sell de little wite nigger, I'd buy