"I ain't much anxious to sell her; she is my darter Jane's waitin' 'ooman, and, you see, my darters are putty much stuck up. They thinks they must have a waitin'-maid; but, if you offer a far price, maybe we will close in."
"Wal, as she is a fancy article, I'll jist say take twelve hundred dollars, and that's more an' she's actilly worth; but I wants her fur my own use; a sorter private gal like, you knows," and he gave a lascivious blink, which Mr. Peterkin seemed to understand. I felt a deep crimson suffuse my face. Oh, God! this was the heaviest of all afflictions. Sold! and for such a purpose!
"I reckon the bargain is closed, then," said Mr. Peterkin.
I felt despair coiling around my heart. Yet I knew that to make an appeal to their humanity would be worse than idle.
"Who, which of them have you sold, father?" asked Miss Jane, who entered the kitchen, doubtless for the humane object of witnessing the distress of the poor creatures.
"Wal, Lindy's sold, and we are 'bout closing the bargain for Ann."
"Why, Ann belongs to me."
"Yes, but Tompkins offers twelve hundred dollars; and six hundred of it you shill have to git new furniture."
"She shan't go for six thousand. I want an accomplished maid when I go up to the city, and she just suits me. Remember I have your deed of gift."
This relieved me greatly, for I understood her determination; and, though I knew all sorts of severity would be exercised over me in my present home, I felt assured that my honor would remain unstained.