Haley made a turn or two about the boat, and then, coming up, seated himself near her, and began saying something to her in an indifferent undertone.
Tom soon noticed a heavy cloud passing over the woman’s brow; and that she answered rapidly, and with great vehemence.
“I don’t believe it,—I won’t believe it!” he heard her say. “You’re jist a foolin’ with me.”
“If you won’t believe it, look here!” said the man, drawing out a paper; “this yer’s the bill of sale, and there’s your master’s name to it; and I paid down good solid cash for it, too, I can tell you,—so, now!”
“I don’t believe Mas’r would cheat me so; it can’t be true!” said the woman, with increasing agitation.
“You can ask any of these men here, that can read writing. Here!” he said, to a man that was passing by, “jist read this yer, won’t you! This yer gal won’t believe me, when I tell her what ’t is.”
“Why, it’s a bill of sale, signed by John Fosdick,” said the man, “making over to you the girl Lucy and her child. It’s all straight enough, for aught I see.”
The woman’s passionate exclamations collected a crowd around her, and the trader briefly explained to them the cause of the agitation.
“He told me that I was going down to Louisville, to hire out as cook to the same tavern where my husband works,—that’s what Mas’r told me, his own self; and I can’t believe he’d lie to me,” said the woman.
“But he has sold you, my poor woman, there’s no doubt about it,” said a good-natured looking man, who had been examining the papers; “he has done it, and no mistake.”