Tilda came at the call of her master.  While she was replacing the articles in her mistress’ basket, Raymond, who wished to show that he was ready to adopt all the peculiarities of the State, said, “That’s a valuable looking negro girl.  I suppose your property mostly consists in such as she.  I don’t wonder that you object to give them up just to please the North.  Have you many such?”

“Yes, quite a heap on ’em.  Why?  Want to steal ’em, hey?”

Raymond reddened.  His attempts at anti-abolition had not succeeded as well as he anticipated; but he soon rallied and said, “Certainly not; I shouldn’t know what to do with your slaves if I had them; besides I have no inclination to interfere with your Southern institutions.  I am too much of a pro-slavery man myself.”

“Likely enough,” said Mr. Middleton, rather gruffly, for he did not much like the appearance of Raymond, “likely enough.  But, young man, let old Josh give you a little advice.  I’ve seen more than double your years, I reckon, and I never seen a man come from the free states that wasn’t a little teched with abolitionism.  It’s nateral like and onnateral to change their mind so mighty soon.  So I advise you to keep your opinions to yourself for a spell, any way.  A heap on ’em come here, and are surprised not to find a whippin’ post stuck up in a corner of every yard.  I don’t say you are one of ’em; but we don’t think no better of a body when they jine in with us so soon.”

This speech somewhat disconcerted young Raymond, who was anxious to get into Mr. Middleton’s good graces; but his discomfiture was soon removed by his saying, “Boy, don’t take what I’ve said in high dudgeon.  Folks allus see the roughest side of me first; I’m a friend to you, and allus will be as long as you do well.”  Then chancing to think his guests were hungry, he called out, “Saints and angels!  Why don’t you bring in supper, you lazy bones thar in the kitchen?  Do you hear?”

“Yes, marster,” said three or four negroes at once, “supper’ll be ready d’rectly.”

In a few moments the nicely-cooked spare-rib was smoking on the table, together with hot coffee, boiled turnips and egg bread, which Southern cooks know so well how to make.  Besides this there was the golden-colored butter, white flaky honeycomb, and the Sunday pitcher overflowing with rich creamy milk.  “Come, boys, set by and have some fodder!” said Mr. Middleton.

The young gentlemen took their seats at the table and Mr. Middleton continued, “Now lay into ’t and help yourselves.  I ain’t used to perlite strains, and if I should try you’d all larf at me—­mebby you want to now.  Tempest say’s I’m enough to make a dog larf.”

“Who is Tempest?  One of your servants?” asked Stanton.

“Christopher Columbus!  One of my servants!” answered Mr. Middleton.  “How Tempest would rar to hear that.  Why, she’s my oldest gal.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Stanton.