"But he lied, Massa K----," chimed in Jim, very warmly; "you neber said you war an ab'lishener."
"You know what _they_ are, Jim, don't you?" said the Colonel, laughing, and taking no notice of his breach of decorum in wedging black ideas into a white conversation.
"Yas, I does dat," said the darky, grinning.
"Jim," said his master, "you're a prince of a nigger, but you talk too much; ask me for something to-day, and I reckon you'll get it; but go now, and tell Chloe (the cook) to get us some dinner."
The negro left, and, excusing myself, I soon followed suit.
I went to my room, laid down on the lounge, and soon fell asleep. It was nearly five o'clock when a slight noise in the apartment awoke me, and, looking up, I saw the Colonel quietly seated by the fire, smoking a cigar. His feet were elevated above his head, and he appeared absorbed in no very pleasant reflections.
"It's all over with him, my friend. He died easy; but 'twas very painful to me; I feel I have done him wrong."
"I was away all summer, and that cursed Moye sent him to the swamp to tote for the shinglers. It killed him."
The Colonel remained with me till supper-time, evidently much depressed by the events of the morning, which had affected him more than I should have thought possible. I endeavored, by directing his mind to other topics, to cheer him, and in a measure succeeded.
While we were seated at the supper table, the black cook entered from the kitchen--a one-story shanty, detached from, and in the rear of the house--and, with a face expressive of every conceivable emotion a negro can feel--joy, sorrow, wonder, and fear all combined--exclaimed, "O massa, massa! dear massa! Sam, O Sam!"
"Sam!" said the Colonel; "what about Sam?"
"Why, he hab--dear, dear massa, don't yer, don't yer hurt him--he hab come back!"
If a bombshell had fallen in the room, a greater sensation could not have been produced. Every individual arose from the table, and the Colonel, striding up and down the apartment, exclaimed:
"Is he mad? The everlasting fool! Why in h--has he come back?"
"Oh, don't ye hurt him massa," said the black cook, wringing her hands. "Sam hab been bad, bery bad, but he won't be so no more."
"Stop your noise, aunty," said the Colonel, but with no harshness in his tone. "I shall do what I think right."