“‘Old dame,’ says the ossifer (for so dey calls him), as pleasant as a mornin’ in May; ’has you a young gal locked up here as you knows ob?  Now tell what you choose, and don’t be afraid of dese folks.  Dis is a free country for bofe black and white.’

“Den I answered him straightforward like de trufe:  ’Dar’s nobody in de house heah but wat you kin see for axin’ for ’em, as far as I knows on.  Wat young gal do you ’lude to, masta?—­Bridget Maloney, I spose, dat Irish heifer wat does de chambers ebery mornin’ and goes home ob ebenin’s.  Ef you means her, she’s off to church to-day, an’ sleeps at her mammy’s house.’

“‘Does you feel willin’ to swar to de trufe of your insertion, ole dame?’ he disclaims.  ’I shall resist on dat’—­fierce as a buck-rabbit, holdin’ up his right hand, an’ blinkin’ his little ’cute eyes.

“Sartin an’ sure I does when de right time is come,’ I sez.  ‘Jes’ take me to de court-hous’ ef you doubt Dinah’s word compunctionable.  I neber hab bin in dat place yit since I was sold in Georgy on de block befo’ de high, wooden steps; but I knows it is more solemn to lie dar dan in Methody meetin’-house.’

“Den Mr. Bainrofe he cum out, hearin’ de talk, in dat long-tailed, satin-flowered gownd ob his’n, wid a silk rope tied roun’ his waist, an’ gole tossels hangin’ in front, jes’ like a Catholic Roman or a king, an’ he sez, ‘Walk in here, my fren, an’ don’t tamper wid my servants—­dat ain’t gentlem’ly;’ den he puts his han’ on de ossifer’s shoulder, an’ dey walked in together, an’ I listened at de do’, in duty boun’, an’ I heerd him say, ’Plant a guard if you choose—­do wateber you like—­but, till dat writ am rectified, you can’t sarch through my house, for a man’s house is his castle here, as in de Great Britain, till de law reaches out a long arm an’ a strong arm.’  Dat was wat Mr. Bainrofe spounded to de ossifer, an’ he ’peared ‘fused-like an’ flusterfied, for I peeped fru de key-hole at ’em wen dey wus talkin’.  ‘An,’ sez he, ’dis heah paper does want de secon’ seal, sure enough, since I ’xamine it, wat you, is so ’tickiler ’bout; but dat can easily be reconstructified, an’ I’ll be sartin sure to be here airly to-morrow morning.  In de mean while, my man, McDermot, shall keep de house in his eye, an’ mus’ hab de liberty of lodgment.’

“Den Mr. Bainrofe he say, ’Oh, sartinly—­your man, McDermot, am welcome to his bite an’ sup, an’ all he kin fine out’—­an’ he laughed, an’ dey parted, mighty pleasant-like, and den he called Mrs. Raymun’ and Mass’ Gregory, an’ I listened again.  Dat’s our colored way for reformation, child.  An’ I heerd ’em—­”

“Dinah!  Dinah! what are you muttering about—­don’t you hear Mrs. Raymond knocking?  Miss Monfort must be tired out of your nonsense.  What keeps you there so long?”

“I’se spounding another speritual to Miss Mirainy, an’, wen I gits ‘gaged in dat way, I disregards airthly knockin’.  I’se listenin’ to de angels hammerin’ overhead, an’ Mrs. Raymun’ will hab to wait a spell—­he! he! he!”