“Sheets are not good for me, my skin is too black.” The negro laughed gently as he said these words, and prepared to glide into bed, half clothed as he was, when suddenly he stopped, drew from his breast an ivory smelling-bottle, and kissed it devoutly.
“What a funny medal!” cried Jack.
“It is not a medal,” answered the negro; “it is my Gri-qri.”
But Jack had no idea what a Gri-gri was, and the other explained that it was an amulet—something to bring him good luck. His Aunt Kérika had given it to him when he left his native land,—the aunt who had brought him up, and to whom he hoped to return at some future day.
“As I shall to my mamma,” said little Barancy; and both children were silent, each thinking of the one he loved most on earth.
Jack returned to the charge in a few minutes. “And your country—is it a pretty place? Is it far off? and what is its name?”
“Dahomey,” answered the negro.
Jack started up in bed.
“What! Do you know him? Did you come to this country with him?”
“Who?”