The old soldier of fifty battles looked down upon the poor old negro in his squalor and emaciation and wretchedness, and the tears came into his eyes, too, as he said,
"If there is anything in this house to eat, Joshua, you shall have all you want. I pity you from my heart, old negro. These people are not your friends nor mine. The day will come when you will know them as they are—enemies of every one who will not wash their dirty linen."
"Eber yu spoke de truf, Mars Jon, you spoke it den—hit's de God's truf."
"Clarissa!" called the Colonel, "Clarissa!"
"Sar!" came Clarissa's voice from the kitchen. "I'se er cummin, ole marsa, jes es fast es I ken."
As she saw Joshua she threw up her hands and impulsively exclaimed,
"Fur de Lawd's sake, Joshaway, whot do ail yer eny way? I faut yu wuz er gostis er settin outen here wid ole marser. Po ole nigger! Duz sis Hanner luk lak yu duz? De grabeyard is er yornin fer yu rite now." And Clarissa placed her hand feelingly upon the old negro's white head, saying the while, "Po Joshaway! Po nigger!" while Joshua covered his face with his knotty hands and his feeble body shook as with a spasm.
In obedience to orders, Clarissa placed before Joshua a huge dish of boiled ham, cabbage, potatoes—Irish and sweet—and the old negro in the joy of his heart sprang nimbly to his aged and aching feet and "cut de piggen whing jes ter sho ole marsa how spry und suple he wus."
"Bress Gawd!" he gratefully exclaimed, "I'se been happy two times in my life—wun time when I jined de miluntary cumpny when de niggers wus playin 'de jay bird' on der tootin horns (den I wus er fule), und tother time wus dis here time."
After devouring like a starved brute the bulk of the food before him, he considerately placed into his old beaver hat choice bits and fragments, layer upon layer, with the observation,