"How long did he wear it?"

"'Bout two years."

"Two years! It is impossible for any one to live that length of time
with this rough heavy iron."

[Illustration: SLAVE IRONS IN POSSESSION OF THE AUTHOR]

"We work two seasons, any how, over in dat cotton-fiel'," pointing to
the two-hundred-acre cotton-field at our right.

I took up another iron, and inquired, "What sort of an iron is this?"

"A knee-stiffener, to w'ar on de leg to keep 'em from runnin' off in
dat swamp," pointing to the dark swamp bordering Lake Concordia, so
fully draped with long Southern moss that in many places in it nothing
could be discovered three feet in the thicket.

I went to the rear of the shop, with the ring under my shawl. Here
stood a dozen or more of old and crippled men and women.

"Did any of this company," I asked, "live on this plantation before
the war?"

"Yes, missus, six of us live here. I live here seven year."

I drew out the collar, and asked if any one could tell me what that
was. One looked at another, and asked where I found it.