“‘But s’posen de patteroles ketch me, Aun’ Peggy, w’at I gwine ter do?’ sez Solomon.

“‘De patteroles ain’ gwine tech you, but ef you doan fin’ dat nigger, I ‘m gwine git you, en you’ll fin’ me wusser ‘n de patteroles.  Des hol’ on a minute, en I’ll sprinkle you wid some er dis mixtry out’n dis yer bottle, so de patteroles can’t see you, en you kin rub yo’ feet wid some er dis yer grease out’n dis go’d, so you kin run fas’, en rub some un it on yo’ eyes so you kin see in de da’k; en den you mus’ fin’ dat noo nigger en gib ’im dis yer ‘tater, er you gwine ter hab mo’ trouble on yo’ ban’s ‘n you eber had befo’ in yo’ life er eber will hab sence.’

“So Solomon tuk de sweet’n’ ‘tater en sta’ted up de road fas’ ez he could go, en befo’ long he retch’ town.  He went right ’long by de patteroles, en dey did n’ ’pear ter notice ‘im, en bimeby he foun’ whar de strange nigger was kep’, en he walked right pas’ de gyard at de do’ en foun’ ‘im.  De nigger could n’ see ‘im, ob co’se, en he could n’ ‘a’ seed de nigger in de da’k, ef it had n’ be’n fer de stuff Aun’ Peggy gun ’im ter rub on ‘is eyes.  De nigger wuz layin’ in a co’nder, ’sleep, en Solomon des slip’ up ter ‘im, en hilt dat sweet’n’ ’tater ‘fo’ de nigger’s nose, en he des nach’ly retch’ up wid his han’, en tuk de ‘tater en eat it in his sleep, widout knowin’ it.  Wen Solomon seed he ’d done eat de ‘tater, he went back en tol’ Aun’ Peggy, en den went home ter his cabin ter sleep, ’way ’long ‘bout two o’clock in de mawnin’.

“De nex’ day wuz Sunday, en so de niggers had a little time ter deyse’ves.  Solomon wuz kinder ‘sturb’ in his min’ thinkin’ ’bout his junesey w’at ‘uz gone away, en wond’rin’ w’at Aun’ Peggy had ter do wid dat noo nigger; en he had sa’ntered up in de woods so ’s ter be by hisse’f a little, en at de same time ter look atter a rabbit-trap he’d sot down in de aidge er de swamp, w’en who sh’d he see stan’in’ unner a tree but a w’ite man.

“Solomon did n’ knowed de w’ite man at fus’, ’tel de w’ite man spoke up ter ’im.

“‘Is dat you, Solomon?’ sezee.

“Den Solomon reco’nized de voice.

“‘Fer de Lawd’s sake, Mars Jeems! is dat you?’

“‘Yas, Solomon,’ sez his marster, ‘dis is me, er w’at’s lef er me.’

“It wa’n’t no wonder Solomon had n’ knowed Mars Jeems at fus’, fer he wuz dress’ lack a po’ w’ite man, en wuz barefooted, en look’ monst’us pale en peaked, ez ef he’d des come th’oo a ha’d spell er sickness.

“‘You er lookin’ kinder po’ly, Mars Jeems,’ sez Solomon.  ’Is you be’n sick, suh?’

“‘No, Solomon,’ sez Mars Jeems, shakin’ his head, en speakin’ sorter slow en sad, ‘I ain’ be’n sick, but I’s had a monst’us bad dream,—­fac’, a reg’lar, nach’ul nightmare.  But tell me how things has be’n gwine on up ter de plantation sence I be’n gone, Solomon.’

“So Solomon up en tol’ ’im ’bout de craps, en ’bout de hosses en de mules, en ’bout de cows en de hawgs.  En w’en he ‘mence’ ter tell ’bout de noo nigger, Mars Jeems prick’ up ‘is yeahs en listen’, en eve’y now en den he ’d say, ‘Uh huh! uh huh!’ en nod ’is head.  En bimeby, w’en he’d ax’ Solomon some mo’ queshtuns, he sez, sezee:—­