While my grandmother was thus helping to support me from her hard earnings, the three hundred dollars she had lent her mistress were never repaid.  When her mistress died, her son-in-law, Dr. Flint, was appointed executor.  When grandmother applied to him for payment, he said the estate was insolvent, and the law prohibited payment.  It did not, however, prohibit him from retaining the silver candelabra, which had been purchased with that money.  I presume they will be handed down in the family, from generation to generation.

My grandmother’s mistress had always promised her that, at her death, she should be free; and it was said that in her will she made good the promise.  But when the estate was settled, Dr. Flint told the faithful old servant that, under existing circumstances, it was necessary she should be sold.

On the appointed day, the customary advertisement was posted up, proclaiming that there would be a “public sale of negroes, horses, &c.”  Dr. Flint called to tell my grandmother that he was unwilling to wound her feelings by putting her up at auction, and that he would prefer to dispose of her at private sale.  My grandmother saw through his hypocrisy; she understood very well that he was ashamed of the job.  She was a very spirited woman, and if he was base enough to sell her, when her mistress intended she should be free, she was determined the public should know it.  She had for a long time supplied many families with crackers and preserves; consequently, “Aunt Marthy,” as she was called, was generally known, and every body who knew her respected her intelligence and good character.  Her long and faithful service in the family was also well known, and the intention of her mistress to leave her free.  When the day of sale came, she took her place among the chattels, and at the first call she sprang upon the auction-block.  Many voices called out, “Shame!  Shame!  Who is going to sell you, aunt Marthy?  Don’t stand there!  That is no place for you.”  Without saying a word, she quietly awaited her fate.  No one bid for her.  At last, a feeble voice said, “Fifty dollars.”  It came from a maiden lady, seventy years old, the sister of my grandmother’s deceased mistress.  She had lived forty years under the same roof with my grandmother; she knew how faithfully she had served her owners, and how cruelly she had been defrauded of her rights; and she resolved to protect her.  The auctioneer waited for a higher bid; but her wishes were respected; no one bid above her.  She could neither read nor write; and when the bill of sale was made out, she signed it with a cross.  But what consequence was that, when she had a big heart overflowing with human kindness?  She gave the old servant her freedom.

At that time, my grandmother was just fifty years old.  Laborious years had passed since then; and now my brother and I were slaves to the man who had defrauded her of her money, and tried to defraud her of her freedom.  One of my mother’s sisters, called Aunt Nancy, was also a slave in his family.  She was a kind, good aunt to me; and supplied the place of both housekeeper and waiting maid to her mistress.  She was, in fact, at the beginning and end of every thing.