"What is your value now?"
"P'raps eight hundred, p'raps a thousand dollar, massa."
"Would your mistress take a thousand for you?"
"Don't know, sar, but reckon she would. She'd be glad to get shut of me. She don't like me on de plantation, 'cause she say de oder darkies tink too much ob me; and she don't like me in de city, 'cause she 'fraid I run away."
"Why afraid you'll runaway? Did you ever try to?"
"Try to! Lor bless you, massa, I neber taught ob such a ting—wouldn't gwo ef I could."
"But wouldn't you?" I asked, thinking he had conscientious scruples about running away; "wouldn't you if you could buy yourself, and go honestly, as a free man?"
"Buy myself, sar!" he exclaimed in surprise; "buy my own flesh and blood dat de Lord hissef gabe me! No, no! massa; I'd likes to be free, but I'd neber do dat!"
"Why not do that?" I asked.
"'Cause 't would be owning dat de white folks hab a right to de brack; and 'cause, sar, if I war free I couldn't stay har."