I took up another iron, and inquired, "What sort of an iron is this?"
"A knee-stiffener, to w'ar on de leg to keep 'em from runnin' off in dat swamp," pointing to the dark swamp bordering Lake Concordia, so fully draped with long Southern moss that in many places in it nothing could be discovered three feet in the thicket.
I went to the rear of the shop, with the ring under my shawl. Here stood a dozen or more of old and crippled men and women.
"Did any of this company," I asked, "live on this plantation before the war?"
"Yes, missus, six of us live here. I live here seven year."
I drew out the collar, and asked if any one could tell me what that was. One looked at another, and asked where I found it.
"In that pile of irons by the door," I replied.
One said, in a low tone, "Dat's Uncle Tim's collar."
"Yes, missus, dat is iron collar to wear on de neck."
"But you see it is fastened with heavy iron rivets."