Ben threw open the door, and displayed to view a low kind of hutch, without any other light than that between the crevices of the logs. On the floor, which was of hard-trodden earth, sat a sinewy, lean negro-woman, drawing up her knees with her long arms, and resting her chin upon them.
"Hollo, Nance, how are you?" said Ben, rather cheerily.
"Por'ly, mas'r," said the other, in a sullen tone.
"Nance, you think your old man will whale you, when he gets you?" said Ben.
"I reckons he will," said Nance; "he allers does."
"Well, Nance, the old woman and I want to go to a camp-meeting; and I'll just tell you what it is,—you stay here quiet, while we are gone, and I'll make the old fellow promise not to wallop you. I wouldn't mind taking off something of the price—that's fair, an't it?"
"Yes, mas'r!" said the woman, in the same subdued tone.
"Does your foot hurt you much?" said Ben.
"Yes, mas'r!" said the woman.
"Let me look at it," said Ben.