Uncle Bob looked up, and, seeing she was pale and thin, offered her a
seat, which she accepted.
"Is this always your work?" asked Ann, by way of opening a
conversation with the old man.
"In cose 'tis," he replied; "who dat gwine ter make de baskits les'n
hit's me? I done make baskits 'fo mistiss wuz born; I usen ter 'long
ter her pa; I ain't no bort nigger myse'f."
"You are certainly very fortunate," answered Ann, "for the slave that
has never been on the block can never know the full bitterness of
slavery."
"Wy, yer talkin' same ez white folks," said Uncle Bob. "Whar yer git
all dem fine talkin's fum? ain't you er nigger same ez me?"
"Yes, I am a negress, Uncle Bob; or, rather, my mother was a slave,
and I was born in slavery; but I have had the misfortune to have been
educated."
"Kin yer read in de book?" asked the old man earnestly.
"Oh yes, as well as anybody."
"Who showed yer?" asked Uncle Bob.
"My mistress had me taught; but, if it won't bother you, I'll just
tell you all about it, for I want to get your interest, Uncle Bob, and
gain your love, if I can-- yours, and everybody's on the place-- for I
am sick, and must die, and I want to make friends, so they will be
kind to my baby. Shall I tell you my story?"
The old man nodded his head, and went on with his work, while Ann
related to him the sad history of her life.
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