The following morning, as soon as he had breakfasted, he started in search of Mr. Ellis.  The address was 18, Little Green-street; and, by diligently inquiring, he at length discovered the required place.

After climbing up a long flight of stairs on the outside of an old wooden building, he found himself before a door on which was written, “Charles Ellis, carpenter and joiner.”  On opening it, he ushered himself into the presence of an elderly coloured man, who was busily engaged in planing off a plank.  As soon as Mr. Winston saw his face fully, he recognized him as his old friend.  The hair had grown grey, and the form was also a trifle bent, but he would have known him amongst a thousand.  Springing forward, he grasped his hand, exclaiming, “My dear old friend, don’t you know me?” Mr. Ellis shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked at him intently for a few moments, but seemed no wiser from his scrutiny.  The tears started to Mr. Winston’s eyes as he said, “Many a kind word I’m indebted to you for—­I am George Winston—­don’t you remember little George that used to live on the Carter estate?”

“Why, bless me! it can’t be that you are the little fellow that used to go home with me sometimes to Savanah, and that was sold to go to New Orleans?”

“Yes, the same boy; I’ve been through a variety of changes since then.”

“I should think you had,” smilingly replied Mr. Ellis; “and, judging from appearances, very favourable ones!  Why, I took you for a white man—­and you are a white man, as far as complexion is concerned.  Laws, child!” he continued, laying his hand familiarly on Winston’s shoulders, “how you have changed—­I should never have known you!  The last time I saw you, you were quite a shaver, running about in a long tow shirt, and regarding a hat and shoes as articles of luxury far beyond your reach.  And now,” said Mr. Ellis, gazing at him with admiring eyes, “just to look at you!  Why, you are as fine a looking man as one would wish to see in a day’s travel.  I’ve often thought of you.  It was only the other day I was talking to my wife, and wondering what had become of you.  She, although a great deal older than your cousin Emily, used to be a sort of playmate of hers.  Poor Emily! we heard she was sold at public sale in Savanah—­did you ever learn what became of her?” “Oh, yes; I saw her about two months since, when on my way from New Orleans.  You remember old Colonel Garie?  Well, his son bought her, and is living with her.  They have two children—­she is very happy.  I really love him; he is the most kind and affectionate fellow in the world; there is nothing he would not do to make her happy.  Emily will be so delighted to know that I have seen your wife—­but who is Mrs. Ellis?—­any one that I know?”

“I do not know that you are acquainted with her, but you should remember her mother, old Nanny Tobert, as she was called; she kept a little confectionery—­almost every one in Savanah knew her.”