They are not able to buy my child, and he must be
raised in ignorance, to do another's bidding all his life, my poor
little baby! His dear father hated slavery, and it seems so hard that
his son must be a slave!"
"Now don't yer take on like dat, er makin' uv yerse'f sick," said
Uncle Bob; "I know wat I gwine do; my min' hit's made up; hit's true,
I'm brack, but den my min' hit's made up. Now you go on back ter de
house, outn dis damp a'r, an' tuck cyar er yerse'f, an' don't yer be
er frettin', nuther, caze my marster, he's de bes' man dey is; an'
den, 'sides dat, my min' hit's made up. Hyear, honey," addressing the
child, "take deze hyear white-oak splits an' go'n make yer er baskit
'long o' yer ma."
Ann and her baby returned to the house, but Uncle Snake-bit Rob, long
after the sun went down, still sat on his little bench in front of his
shop, his elbows on his knees, and his face buried in his hands; and
when it grew quite dark he rose, and put away his splits and his
baskets, saying to himself,
"Well, I know wat I'm gwine do; my min' hit's made up."
CHAPTER VIII
UNCLE BOB'S PROPOSITION
THE night after Ann's interview with Uncle Bob, Major Waldron was
sitting in his library looking over some papers, when some one knocked
at the door, and, in response to his hearty "Come in," Uncle Snake-bit
Bob entered.
Pages:
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89