“I doan wanter lebe you, young mistis, I sut’ny doan, ner der ole place whar I al’ays libed.  But freedom sweet, young mistis, en I wanter feel I free befo’ I die.”

“You shall, Uncle Lusthah.  You have earned your freedom, anyway.”

“Tut, tut, Louise, that’s no way to talk,” said her uncle testily.

The old slave looked from one to the other sorrowfully, shook his head and slowly retired.

“Remember what I said,” Miss Lou called after him, and then sank back in her chair.

Uncle Lusthah had to relate the result of his conference, and the consequence was an immediate outbreak of a reckless, alienated spirit.  That afternoon the field hands paid no attention to Mr. Baron’s orders, and he saw that slaves from other plantations were present.  Uncle Lusthah sat at his door with his head bowed on his breast.  His people would listen to him no more, and he himself was so divided in his feelings that he knew not what to say.

“Hit may be de Lawd’s doin’s ter set He people free,” he muttered, “but somehow I kyant brung mysef ter lebe dat po’ sick chile.  Ole mars’r en ole miss kyant see en woan see, en dat lil chile w’at stan’ up fer us in de ’stremity ob triberlation be lef wid no one ter do fer her.  I berry ole en stiff in my jints en I cud die peaceful ef I know I free; but hit ’pears that de Lawd say ter me, ‘Uncle Lusthah, stay right yere en look arter dat lil sick lam’.  Den I mek you free w’en de right time come.’”

Uncle Lusthah soon had the peace of the martyr who has chosen his course.  Mr. Baron also sat on his veranda with head bowed upon his breast.  He too had chosen his course, and now in consequence was sunk in more bitter and morose protest than ever.  Events were beyond his control and he knew it, but he would neither yield nor change.  This was the worst that had yet befallen him.  Black ruin stared him in the face, and he stared back with gloomy yet resolute eyes.  “I will go down with my old colors flying,” he resolved, and that was the end of it.

His wife was with him in sympathy, but her indomitable spirit would not be crushed.  She was almost ubiquitous among the house and yard slaves, awing them into a submission which they scarcely understood and inwardly chafed at.  She even went to the quarters and produced evident uneasiness by her stern, cutting words.  None dared reply to her, but when the spell of her presence was removed all resumed their confused and exultant deliberations as to their future course.

Aun’ Jinkey, sitting with Miss Lou, scoffed at the idea of going away.  “Long ez my chimly-corner en my pipe dar I dar too,” she said.  “Dis freedom business so mux up I kyant smoke hit out nohow.”

Zany was in a terribly divided state of mind.  Were it not for Miss Lou, she would have been ready enough to go, especially as she had heard that Chunk was at the railroad town.  Her restless spirit craved excitement and freedom:  a townful of admirers, with Chunk thrown in, was an exceedingly alluring prospect.  With all her faults, she had a heart, and the sick girl had won her affection unstintedly.  When therefore Miss Lou summoned her and fixed her sad, pleading blue eyes upon her, the girl threw her apron over her head and began to cry “Doan say a word, Miss Lou,” she sobbed, “doan ax me not ter go kase ef you does I kyant go.”