Just then his watch struck five minutes to six, and he ran off toward the homestead of Squire Lamar, saying, as he did so, in his quaint way: “Veepin’ Rachel! der boss will kick der live out mit me.”
Before the war Squire Lamar had been the richest man in Oconee County; but the conflict had ruined him, and he now had little except his plantation, horses, and stables. He lived in his ancestral house, which was heavily mortgaged, with his wife and children.
’Rasmus, his only servant, an ex-slave, supported the family by collecting dollars—at night.
As he ran toward the house, he saw Squire Lamar on the veranda. Just then a horseman dashed up. He was the sheriff of Oconee County. ’Rasmus took advantage of the commotion, and ran into the kitchen to cook the dinner. On seeing the squire, the sheriff called out to him: “The mortgage on this place will be foreclosed if the $3600 due is not forthcoming by to-morrow noon.”
“Alas!” said the squire; “you see how we are situated. I haven’t a dollar, and wouldn’t know how to earn one if I had.”
At this juncture, ’Rasmus, who had cooked the dinner during the conversation, came up and said: “Massa, Ah’s a free man, Ah know Ah is; but avick, ’t is a mighty shmall wan Oi’d be if I wouldn’t help out a poor omadhaun like yerself. ‘Caed mille fail the Bryn Mawr dolce far niente.’ Zat ees mon motto, an’ so, deah massah, I will guarantee to git de money by to-morrow noon.” Then turning to the sheriff, he said in a manly tone that contrasted ill with his ragged garments: “Ye maun fash awee, laddie, doon the skim.”
After a few more words, the sheriff, who was really a kind man at heart, rode off, saying he would be on hand the next day, and if the money were not forthcoming, he would march them all off to the county jail, ten miles distant. After blowing the dinner-horn, ’Rasmus hobbled off to his humble cottage.
II
On arriving at his cabin, ’Rasmus took a bolster-case full of dollars from under the bed, and proceeded to count them. There were just $3000. “Now, Ah mus’ git $600 more before to-morrow, or else me poor masther’ll be wor-r-rkin’ in the chain-gang. Ach, Himmel!” said the good old darky, his eyes suffused with tears, “if dot took blace, it zeems as if mein herz would break.”
He calmly decided on a plan of action, however. Waiting until night had flung over the earth a pall, through which the silvery moon cast shimmering beams aslant the quivering aspens of the forest, and the snoring of the birds told him that nature slept, he left his house and walked briskly off to the highway.