I sang.
LOU-EE-ZY AND LOW-II-ZY.
“Yes, that is it,” said John, “and even our old friend ‘Swannee Ribber’ owes his dominion to the fact that he is ‘far, far away.’ ”
A little trail turned off to a low cabin on the bank of a brook; we saw some flowers, and wandered that way for a moment. It was the lonely little home of a freedman, and two children stood in the doorway staring at us with solemn eyes. We bestowed some pennies, which produced a bob of a courtesy; then some jokes, which brought out the ivories.
“What are your names, children?” I asked.
“They’s jes Lou-ee-zy and Low-ii-zy,” replied a voice from within-doors. “They’s twins, and I’s took car’ ob dein allays.”
It was a crippled old auntie who spoke. She told us her story, with long digressions about “ole massa” and “ole miss.”
“After all, I suspect you were more comfortable in the old times, auntie,” I said.
“What’s dat to do wid de acquisition ob freedom?” replied the old woman, proudly. “De great ting is dis yer: Lou-ee-zy is free, and Low-ii-zy is free! Bot’ ob dem! Bot’ ob dem, ladies!”