"Mis' Kate, sumpin' er a-nudder done gone wrong wid Mos' Grifs haid. Sho' as yoh bawn, honey, dat's a fack! I wisht yoh send fo' yoh paw. I does dat!" and she waddled up the stairs, with the sleeping child held dose to her faithful heart.
The reception of the freedom papers by the others varied with temperament and age. Two or three of the younger ones reached in over the heads of those in front of them when their names were called, and, holding the papers in their hands, "cut a pigeon-wing" in the moonlight. One or two looked at theirs in stupid, silent wonder. Jerry and his wife gazed at the twins, and, in a half-dazed, half-shamefaced way, took theirs. Jerry took all four to Katherine. "Keep dem fo' me, please, ma'am, Mis' Kathrine, kase I ain't got no good place fer ter hide'em. Mebby dem dare chillun gwine ter want'em one er dese here days."
Not one grasped the full meaning of it all. It was evident that one and all expected to live along as before—to follow the fortunes of the family.
"Thanky, Mos' Grif, much 'bleeged," said old Milt, as he took his, "but I'd a heap site a-rud-der had some mo' ob dat town terbacker—I would dat, honey."
"Give it up for to-night, Griffith," said his wife, gently, as he still stood helplessly trying to explain again and again. "You look so white, and I am very tired. Give it up for tonight. It will be easier after they have talked it over together, perhaps—by daylight."
She pushed him gently into a chair and motioned to Jerry to take them all away. The faithful fellow remembered, when outside, that she had asked him to sing, but the merry song she had named had no echo in the hearts about him. All understood that they had failed to respond to something that the master had expected. The strings of his banjo rang out in a few minor chords, and as they moved toward the quarters an old forgotten melody floated back—
O, de shadders am a deepenin' on de mountains,
O, de shadders am a deep'nin' on de stream,
An' I think I hear an echo f urn de valley,
An echo ob de days ob which I dream!
Ole happy days! Ole happy days!
Befo' I knew dat sorrow could be bawn,
When I played wid mos'er's chillun in de medder,
When my wuk was done a-hoein' ob de cawn!
Dose happy, happy days! Dose happy, happy days!
Dey'll come again no mo', no-o-o m-o-r-e, no more!
Ole mos'er is a-sleepin' 'neath de willow!
An' de apple blossoms' failin' on de lawn,
Where he used to sit an' doze beneath its shadder,
In de days when I was hoein' ob de cawn!
Ole happy, etc.
Dey'll come no mo' dis side de rlbber Jordan,
O, dey'll come no mo' dis side de golden shoah!
Foh de Chilian's growed so big dat deys forgot me,
Kase I'se ole an' cannot wok foh dem no mo'!
Ole happy, etc.
CHAPTER VIII.—OUT OF BONDAGE.
"Look down. Say nothin'. Few words comprehends the whole."