“Mr. Gossett had taken from his pocket a long red book, and was already counting out the money he had bid. Then and there a thing happened that has never been understood by anybody but me. Everybody will tell you that the Little Master tried to ride over and run down Mr. Gossett, but it is not so. The Little Master had no more to do with it than the old buggy horse who was tied to the rack near by. I felt the Little Master’s hand shake as it rested on my shoulder, and I heard him sob. I was so mad that everything grew dark except Mr. Gossett’s face. I plunged at him and tried to get his head in my mouth, but he saw me coming and fell backward and rolled out of the way before I could reach him, nor could I trample him. His luck saved him.
“And then somebody caught my bridle and gave it a jerk that brought me to my senses. Whoever it was led me out of the crowd and away from the court house. I could feel the Little Master shaking in the saddle, and I knew he was crying, but I held my head down, not knowing what to do or where to go.
“Presently the White-haired Master, hearing of the commotion, came running toward us. His face was as white as a sheet.
“‘Why, my son! my darling boy! What is the trouble?’ He placed his arms around the Little Master. ‘Oh, tell your father! Has any one dared to hurt so much as your little finger? There, don’t cry any more.’
“Then the Little Master told him what you have already heard, his voice shaking and his white hands trembling.
“‘Wait!’ said the White-haired Master.
“With that he suddenly turned and went toward the crowd at the court house. I followed, though the Little Master never touched a rein. The people seemed to expect something, and they made way for the White-haired Master, and for me, with my nose at his coat-tails.
“‘Has the sale been closed?’ he asked sharply. His words snapped out like the popping of a whip.
“‘Yes, sir; yes, sir—it has been closed,’ the trader replied. He was as humble and polite as one of his poor negroes.