The woman in a short time returned with Scip.  There was not a trace of fear or embarrassment in the negro’s manner as he entered the room.  Making a respectful bow, he bade us ‘good evening.’

‘Good evening, Scip,’ said the Colonel, rising and giving the black his hand; ’let us be friends.  Madam tells me I should forgive you, and I do.’

‘Aunt Lucy say ma’am am an angel, sar, and it am tru,—­it am tru, sar,’ replied the negro, with considerable feeling.

The lady rose, also, and took Scip’s hand, saying, ’I not only forgive you, Scipio, but I thank you for what you have done.  I shall never forget it.’

‘You’se too good, ma’am; you’se too good to say dat,’ replied the darky, the moisture coming to his eyes; ‘but I meant nuffin’ wrong,—­I meant nuffin’ dis’specful to de Cunnel.’

‘I know you didn’t, Scip; but we’ll say no more about it;—­good-by,’ said the Colonel.

Shaking hands with each one of us, the darky left the apartment.

One who does not know that the high-bred Southern gentleman considers the black as far below him as the horse he drives, or the dog he kicks, can not realize the amazing sacrifice of pride which the Colonel made in seeking a reconciliation with Scip.  It was the cutting off of his right hand.  The circumstance showed the powerful influence held over him by the octoroon woman.  Strange that she, his slave, cast out from society by her blood and her life, despised, no doubt, by all the world, save by him and a few ignorant blacks, should thus control a proud, self-willed, passionate man, and control him, too, only for good.

After the black had gone, I said to the Colonel, ’I was much interested in old Lucy.  A few more such instances of cheerful and contented old age might lead me to think better of slavery.’

’Such cases are not rare, sir.  They show the paternal character of our “institution.”  We are forced to care for our servants in their old age.’

‘But have your other aged slaves the same comforts that Aunt Lucy has?’

’No; they don’t need them.  She has been accustomed to live in my house, and to fare better than the plantation hands; she therefore requires better treatment.’

‘Is not the support of that class a heavy tax upon you?’

’Yes, it is heavy.  We have, of course, to deduct it from the labor of the able-bodied hands.’

‘What is the usual proportion of sick and infirm on your plantation?’

‘Counting in the child-bearing women, I reckon about twenty per cent.’

‘And what does it cost you to support each hand?’

’Well, it costs me, for children and all, about seventy-five dollars a year.  In some places it costs less. I have to buy all my provisions.’

‘What proportion of your slaves are able-bodied hands?’

’Somewhere about sixty per cent.  I have, all told, old and young,—­men, women, and children,—­two hundred and seventy.  Out of that number I have now equal to a hundred and fifty-four full hands.  You understand that we classify them:  some do only half tasks, some three-quarters.  I have more than a hundred and fifty-four working men and women, but they do only that number of full tasks.’