“Is dat so?” said Uncle Daniel, a dear old father, with a look of saintly patience on his face.  “Well, chillen, what do you mean to do?”

“Go, jis’ as soon as we kin git to de army,” said Tom Anderson.

“What else did the generals say?  And how did you come to hear them, Tom?” asked Robert Johnson.

“Well, yer see, Marster’s too ole and feeble to go to de war, but his heart’s in it.  An’ it makes him feel good all ober when dem big ginerals comes an’ tells him all ’bout it.  Well, I war laying out on de porch fas’ asleep an’ snorin’ drefful hard.  Oh, I war so soun’ asleep dat wen Marster wanted some ice-water he had to shake me drefful hard to wake me up.  An’ all de time I war wide ’wake as he war.”

“What did they say?” asked Robert, who was always on the lookout for news from the battle-field.

“One ob dem said, dem Yankees war talkin’ of puttin’ guns in our han’s and settin’ us all free.  An’ de oder said, ’Oh, sho! ef dey puts guns in dere hands dey’ll soon be in our’n; and ef dey sets em free dey wouldn’t know how to take keer ob demselves.’”

“Only let ’em try it,” chorused a half dozen voices, “an’ dey’ll soon see who’ll git de bes’ ob de guns; an’ as to taking keer ob ourselves, I specs we kin take keer ob ourselves as well as take keer ob dem.”

“Yes,” said Tom, “who plants de cotton and raises all de crops?”

    “’They eat the meat and give us the bones,
      Eat the cherries and give us the stones,’

“And I’m getting tired of the whole business,” said Robert.

“But, Bob,” said Uncle Daniel, “you’ve got a good owner.  You don’t hab to run away from bad times and wuss a comin’.”

“It isn’t so good, but it might be better.  I ain’t got nothing ’gainst my ole Miss, except she sold my mother from me.  And a boy ain’t nothin’ without his mother.  I forgive her, but I never forget her, and never expect to.  But if she were the best woman on earth I would rather have my freedom than belong to her.  Well, boys, here’s a chance for us just as soon as the Union army gets in sight.  What will you do?”

“I’se a goin,” said Tom Anderson, “jis’ as soon as dem Linkum soldiers gits in sight.”

“An’ I’se a gwine wid you, Tom,” said another.  “I specs my ole Marster’ll feel right smart lonesome when I’se gone, but I don’t keer ‘bout stayin’ for company’s sake.”

“My ole Marster’s room’s a heap better’n his company,” said Tom Anderson, “an’ I’se a goner too.  Dis yer freedom’s too good to be lef’ behind, wen you’s got a chance to git it.  I won’t stop to bid ole Marse good bye.”

“What do you think,” said Robert, turning to Uncle Daniel; “won’t you go with us?”

“No, chillen, I don’t blame you for gwine; but I’se gwine to stay.  Slavery’s done got all de marrow out ob dese poor ole bones.  Ef freedom comes it won’t do me much good; we ole one’s will die out, but it will set you youngsters all up.”