Our nig, or, sketches from the life of a free black, in a two-story white house, North showing that slavery's shadows fall even there by Harriet E. Wilson
page 65 of 131 (49%)
page 65 of 131 (49%)
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the pertness she sometimes exhibited, he felt if
restrained properly, might become useful in originating a self-reliance which would be of ser- vice to her in after years. Yet it was not possible to compass all this, while she remained where she was. He wished to be cautious about pressing too closely her claims on his mother, as it would increase the burdened one he so anxiously wished to relieve. He cheered her on with the hope of returning with his family, when he recovered sufficiently. Nig seemed awakened to new hopes and aspirations, and realized a longing for the future, hitherto unknown. To complete Nig's enjoyment, Jack arrived unexpectedly. His greeting was as hearty to herself as to any of the family. "Where are your curls, Fra?" asked Jack, after the usual salutation. "Your mother cut them off." "Thought you were getting handsome, did she? Same old story, is it; knocks and bumps? Better times coming; never fear, Nig." |
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