“True! true!” she returns, giving Mr. Scranton a look of pity.  “God give us sight to see!  We praise our forefathers-honest praise!-but we forget what they did.  They brought them here, poor wretches; decoyed them, deceived them,—­and now we wish them back at the very time it would be impossible to live without them.  How happy is the mind that believes a ‘nigger’ must be a nigger for ever and ever; and that we must do all in our power to keep him from being anything else!” And her soft blue eyes glowed with sympathy; it was the soul of a noble woman intent on doing good.  She had stepped from the darkness of a political error into the airy height of light and love.

Daddy and Bradshaw had taken care of the horses; the deacon greeted his negroes as one by one they came to welcome him; and for each he had a kind word, a joke, a shake of the hand, or an enquiry about some missing member of a family.  The scene presented an interesting picture-the interest, policy, and good faith between master and slave.  No sooner were the horses cared for, than Daddy and Bradshaw started for the “cabins,” to say welcome to the old folks, “a heap a’ how de” to the gals, and tell de boys, down yander, in de tater patch, dat Missus come.  They must have their touching congratulations, interchange the news of the city for the gossip of the plantation, and drink the cup of tea Mamma makes for the occasion.  Soon the plantation is all agog; and the homely, but neat cabins, swarm with negroes of all ages, bustling here and there, and making preparations for the evening supper, which Aunt Peggy, the cook, has been instructed to prepare in her very best style.

The deacon joins his good lady, and, with Mr. Scranton, they prepare to walk over and view the plantation.  They are followed by a retinue of old and young property, giving vent to their thoughts in expressions of gratitude to Missus and Mas’r.  A broad expanse of rural beauty stretches towards the west, soft and enchanting.  The sun is sinking into the curtains of a refulgent cloud; its crimson light casts a mellow shade over the broad landscape; the evening breeze is wafting coolly over the foliage, a welcome relief to the scorching heat of mid-day; the balmy atmosphere breathes sweetness over the whole.  To the north stands a clump of fine old oaks, high above the distant “bottom,” reflecting in all their richness the warm tints of the setting sun.  The leaves rustle as they pass along; long lines of cotton plants, with their healthy blossoms, brighten in the evening shade; the corn bends under its fruit; the potato field looks fresh and luxuriant, and negroes are gathering from the slip-beds supplies of market gardening.  There is but one appearance among the workers-cheerfulness!  They welcome Mas’r as he passes along; and again busily employ themselves, hoeing, weeding, and working at the roots of vines in search of destructive insects.