"That will do," I cried. "You are better off than most of us, for the world will always need and pay for your accomplishments."
The story of her life was a simple one. She did not remember when she lost her arm, but only knew that it had been burned off. When scarcely more than an infant, she had been left alone in the little cabin by the slave mother, who probably was toiling in the tobacco field. There was a fire on the hearth—the rest can be imagined only too vividly. She is fighting out the battle of life, however, more successfully with her one hand than are multitudes of men with two. She is stout and cheery, and can "take keer of herself and children," she said.
Scattered here and there over the fields might be seen two heads that would keep in rather close juxtaposition up and down the long rows.
"Dey's pairin' off," was the explanation.
"You keep de tickets," said a buxom young woman to her mate, as he was about to take her tray, as well as his own, to the buyers.
"You are in partnership," I remarked.
"Yes, we is," she replied, with a conscious laugh.
"You are related, I suppose?"
"Well, not 'zackly—dat is—we's partners."
"How about this partnership business—does it not last sometimes after the strawberry season is over?"