Aaron would have laughed at this display of self-importance, but he knew that to laugh would be to defeat the object he had in view. So his reply was very serious.
"She's good!" cried old Uncle Andy. "Dey's er heap er good wimmen, but dey ain't no 'oman like Sally Ward,—I don't keer ef she is got a temper. Ef folks is made out'n dus' dey wuz des nuff er de kin' she wuz made out'n fer ter make her. Dey wuz de greates' plenty fer ter make her, but dey wan't a pinch lef' over. How come you got ter go up de river?"
"Wait a little while, and Simmons's dog'll tell you," replied Aaron.
"Jim Simmons? I wish I had Rowan Ward here ter do my cussin'!" exclaimed old Uncle Andy, striking the edge of the bateau viciously. "Kin you handle dish yer paddle? Git in dis boat, den! Jim Simmons! Much he look like ketchin' anybody. Git in dis boat, I tell you! En take dis paddle en he'p me pull ef you want to go up de river."
Aaron lost no time in getting in the bateau. Instead of sitting down he remained standing, and braced himself by placing one foot in advance of the other. In this position he leaned first on one side and then on the other as he swept the long, wide oar through the water. A few strokes carried him into the middle of the Oconee and nearly across. Then, out of the current and in the still water, Aaron headed the boat up stream. It was a long, heavy, unwieldy affair, built for carrying the field hands and the fruits of the harvest across the river, for the Ward plantation lay on both sides of the Oconee. The bateau was unwieldy, but propelled by Aaron's strong arms it moved swiftly and steadily up the stream. Old Uncle Andy had intended to help row the boat, but when he saw how easily Aaron managed it he made himself comfortable by holding his oar across his lap and talking.
"I done year tell er you," he said. "Some folks say you er nigger, en some say you ain't no nigger. I'm wid dem what say you ain't no nigger, kaze you don't do like a nigger, en dey ain't no nigger in de roun' worl' what kin stan' up in dis boat an' shove it 'long like you doin'. Dey all weak-kneed en wobbly when dey git on de water. I wish Sally Ward could see you now. She'd buy you terreckly. Don't you want ter b'long ter Sally Ward?"
"No,—Abercrombie," replied Aaron.
"Yo' sho fly high," remarked old Uncle Andy. "Dey er good folks, dem Abercrombies. Ef dey's anybody anywheres 'roun' dat's mos' ez good ez Sally Ward en Rowan Ward it's de Abercrombies. I'll say dat much an' not begrudge it. Speshally dat ar cripple boy. Dey tells me dat dat chil' don't never git tired er doin' good. En dat's a mighty bad sign; it's de wust kinder sign. You watch. De Lord done put his han' on dat chil', en he gwine take 'im back up dar whar he b'longs at. When folks git good like dey say dat chil' is, dey are done ripe."
To this Aaron made no reply. He had had the same or similar thoughts for some time. He simply gave the waters of the river a stronger backward sweep with the oar. The shadows were still heavy on the water, and the overhanging trees helped to make them heavier, but the reflection of dawn caught and became entangled in the ripples made by the boat, and far away in the east the red signal lights of the morning gave forth a dull glow.