Ruffin's eye twinkled. He knew that she saw him. She hated him for his political views. She also knew that he hated her husband, Judge Marshall, with equal cordiality. His pride was too great to feel the slightest hurt at her attempt to ignore him. She was a fanatic on the subject of the Union. All right, he was a fanatic on the idea of an independent South. They were even. Let it be so.
With a toss of his head, he turned toward Lee who had seated himself at the table behind the couch.
The children were chatting and laughing as they entered. A sudden hush fell on them as they caught the serious look on the Colonel's face. He was writing rapidly. He stopped and fixed a seal on the paper which he held in his hand. He read it carefully, lifted his eyes to the group that had drawn near and said:
"Children, my good friend, Mr. Ruffin, has called to-day to bid us
God-speed on our journey North. And he has asked me to answer Uncle
Tom's Cabin. I've called you to witness the only answer I know how to
make at this moment."
He paused and turned toward Sam.
"Come here, Sam."
The young negro rolled his eyes in excited wonder about the room and laughed softly at nothing as he approached the table.
"Yassah, Marse Robert."
"How old are you, Sam?"
"Des twenty, sah."