stamped her little foot, and flinging a short waddy she held, with
remarkable dexterity and no mean force, into the midst of the sable mass,
she turned round to depart with the dignity of a tragedy queen, when
Dunmore jumped up, caught her, and holding her wrist, walked off a little
way from us.

"You like 'it one fine fellow red shirt, Lizzie? Mine give you one with
'plenty long tail'. Baal any other gin along of camp have shirt like 'it
you; and when piccaninny sit down" (for there was a prospect of her
presenting Ferdinand with a little pledge of affection), "mine give that
fellow two budgeree flour-bag shirts, suppose only you good fellow girl
Lizzie."

Evidently, Dunmore knew the way to the young lady's heart -- we nicknamed
him "Faust" afterwards -- for at the mention of the red shirt, with the
lengthy tails, her eyes lost their fierceness, and the allusion to the
piccaninny completed his victory, and changing at once from one extreme to
the other, as only a black or a child can, Miss Lizzie took her seat in the
circle, lighted her pipe, commenced nodding to, and chatting most affably
with, her relatives, and looking so kind, that it seemed impossible to
believe that an intense longing for bloodshed and cruelty had so shortly
before lurked in the breast of the pretty, smiling little savage who was
now beside us.

During the task of pacifying Lizzie, the "heap" had again sunk into
comparative silence, and only a confused murmur was audible from its
depths. Allowing no time to be lost, Dunmore said to Lizzie -- who was
puffing out huge mouthfuls of smoke, greatly to the astonishment of the
other gins, who looked as if they expected to see her suddenly blaze up --