Here Raymond, who was ready to adopt Mr. Middleton's language and manners, exclaimed, "I'll tell you what, old boy, Bob's left a sweetheart in New York, and I fancy she lectured him on intemperance, for you know the women are dead set against it."

Mr. Middleton looked first at Raymond, then at Stanton and said, "Well, he knows good sense by not touchin' on't, I reckon. Got a sweetheart, hey?

That's better than to come here and marry some of our spitfires. Poor boy!

d.i.c.k was engaged to one of 'em, and I've hearn that she raised a tantareen and broke his heart. But I'll fix her! I'll dock off fifty thousand to pay for that caper."

Here Mr. Ashton asked if Mr. Middleton's daughters were still at Frankfort. "Yes," returned Mr. Middleton, "both thar, study in' all the flat things you can think on, and thummin' away on the pianner. You'll see 'em thar; but mind me one and all, mind I say, don't fall in love with Sunshine, for she's engaged, and I've gin my consent, and whoever meddles in that match'll find Josh after 'em!" By way of adding emphasis to his words he brought his fist back against a work-stand, on which stood his wife's work basket. The stand was upset, and all the articles of the basket rolled on the floor. "Great Peter!" said Mr. Middleton, "ho, Tilda, come pick up these 'ere things!"

Tilda came at the call of her master. While she was replacing the articles in her mistress' basket, Raymond, who wished to show that he was ready to adopt all the peculiarities of the State, said, "That's a valuable looking negro girl. I suppose your property mostly consists in such as she. I don't wonder that you object to give them up just to please the North.

Have you many such?"

"Yes, quite a heap on 'em. Why? Want to steal 'em, hey?"

Raymond reddened. His attempts at anti-abolition had not succeeded as well as he antic.i.p.ated; but he soon rallied and said, "Certainly not; I shouldn't know what to do with your slaves if I had them; besides I have no inclination to interfere with your Southern inst.i.tutions. I am too much of a pro-slavery man myself."

"Likely enough," said Mr. Middleton, rather gruffly, for he did not much like the appearance of Raymond, "likely enough. But, young man, let old Josh give you a little advice. I've seen more than double your years, I reckon, and I never seen a man come from the free states that wasn't a little teched with abolitionism. It's nateral like and onnateral to change their mind so mighty soon. So I advise you to keep your opinions to yourself for a spell, any way. A heap on 'em come here, and are surprised not to find a whippin' post stuck up in a corner of every yard. I don't say you are one of 'em; but we don't think no better of a body when they jine in with us so soon."

This speech somewhat disconcerted young Raymond, who was anxious to get into Mr. Middleton's good graces; but his discomfiture was soon removed by his saying, "Boy, don't take what I've said in high dudgeon. Folks allus see the roughest side of me first; I'm a friend to you, and allus will be as long as you do well." Then chancing to think his guests were hungry, he called out, "Saints and angels! Why don't you bring in supper, you lazy bones thar in the kitchen? Do you hear?"

"Yes, marster," said three or four negroes at once, "supper'll be ready d'rectly."

In a few moments the nicely-cooked spare-rib was smoking on the table, together with hot coffee, boiled turnips and egg bread, which Southern cooks know so well how to make. Besides this there was the golden-colored b.u.t.ter, white flaky honeycomb, and the Sunday pitcher overflowing with rich creamy milk. "Come, boys, set by and have some fodder!" said Mr.

Middleton.

The young gentlemen took their seats at the table and Mr. Middleton continued, "Now lay into 't and help yourselves. I ain't used to perlite strains, and if I should try you'd all larf at me-mebby you want to now.

Tempest say's I'm enough to make a dog larf."

"Who is Tempest? One of your servants?" asked Stanton.

"Christopher Columbus! One of my servants!" answered Mr. Middleton. "How Tempest would rar to hear that. Why, she's my oldest gal."

"I beg your pardon," said Stanton.

"Not a bit on't," answered Mr. Middleton. "I don't wonder you thought so, such an oudun name! Her real name is Julia, but I call her Tempest, 'case that's jist like her. She's a regular thunderstorm of lightning, hail and iron slugs. You'll see her in Frankfort. Goin' into the law thar, are you?"

Stanton answered that he thought he should.

"Well," said Mr. Middleton, "I'll give you all my suits, just because you wouldn't drink and tell a lie to that little gal at home. I despise liars.

Let me catch a body telling me a lie, I tell you-"

Here he lifted up his huge foot which was encased in a cowhide boot, something smaller than a ca.n.a.l-boat. He gave the table a kick which set all the spoons, knives and forks to dancing, spilt the milk and upset the gravy pot.

"Why, Mr. Middleton!" interposed his wife.

"I am sorry, honey," said he, "but I'll be hanged if that ar sling ain't gettin' the better of the old man."

After supper was over and the effects of the sling had left Mr.

Middleton's head, he inquired further into the intentions of his guests.

On learning that Mr. Raymond would teach, if he could get the chance, Mr.

Middleton said, "I reckon you can teach in Mr. Miller's school. I'll write to him about you, and I reckon he can make room for you."

It was well for Raymond that Mr. Middleton did not observe his smile of contempt at the idea of being recommended by such an "old cur," as he secretly styled him.

At a late hour Mr. Middleton conducted the young men to their room, saying as they entered it, "This was d.i.c.k's room, poor dear boy! For his sake I wish 'twas better, for it was sometimes cold like in the winter; but he's warm enough now, I reckon, poor fellow!" So saying, he left the room; but Stanton noticed upon the old tin candlestick which his host had put upon the table something which looked very much like tears, so large that he was sure no one but Mr. Middleton could have wept them.

CHAPTER IX

THE RESEMBLANCE OF THE COUSINS

Among Mr. Middleton's negroes there was a boy twelve years of age whose name was Bob. On the morning following the incidents narrated in the last chapter, Bob was sent up to make a fire for "the young marsters." He had just coaxed the coal and kindlings into a blaze, when Raymond awoke, and spying the negro, called out, "h.e.l.lo, there! Tom, d.i.c.k, Harry, what may be your name?"

"My name is Bob, sar."

"Oh, Bob is it? Bob what? Have you no other name?"

"No, sar, 'cept it's Marster Josh. I 'longs to him."

"Belong to Master Josh, do you? His name isn't Josh, it is Joshua."

"Yes, marster."

"Well, then, Bob, if his name is Joshua, what must yours be?" said Raymond.

"Dun know, unless it's Bobaway," answered the negro, with a broad grin.

"Bobaway! That's rich," said Raymond, laughing heartily at the rapid advancement of his pupil.

After a moment's pause, he again called out, "I say, Bobaway, did it snow last night?"

"No, sar, it didn't snow; it done frosted," said Bob.

"Done frosted, hey?" said Raymond. "You're a smart boy, Bob. What'll you sell yourself for?"

"Dun know; hain't nothing to sell 'cept my t'other hat and a bushel of hickory-nuts," answered Bob; "but I reckon how marster ax about five hundred, 'case I's right spry when I hain't got the rheumatiz."

"Got the rheumatiz, have you, Bob? Where?"

"In my belly, sar," answered Bob. Here the young men burst into a loud laugh, and Raymond said, "Five hundred is cheap, Bob; I'll give more than that."

Bob opened his large white eyes to their utmost extent, and looking keenly at Raymond slowly quitted the room. On reaching the kitchen he told Aunt Judy, who was his mother, "that ef marster ever acted like he was goin'

for to sell him to that ar chap, what poked fun at him, he'd run away, sartin."

"And be cotched and git shet up," said Aunt Judy.