"Stand aside, then," said the trader, pushing his new purchases, as if they were a bundle of dry goods. Running up to Amy, they began to hold to her skirts and tremble violently, scarcely knowing what the words of Tompkins implied.
"Dey ain't sold?" asked Amy, turning first from one to the other; yet no one answered. Mr. Peterkin and Tompkins were too busy with their trade, and the negroes too much absorbed in their own fate, to attend to her. For my part I had not strength to confirm her half-formed doubt. There she stood, gathering them to her side with a motherly love.
"What will you give fur this one?" and Mr. Peterkin pointed to Ginsy, who stood with an humble countenance. When called up she made a low courtesy, and went through the examination. Name and age were given; a fair price was offered for her and her child, and was accepted.
"Take this boy for a hundred dollars," said Mr. Peterkin, as he jerked Ben from the arms of the half-petrified Amy.
"Wal, he isn't much 'count; but, rather then seem contrary, I'll give that fur him."
And thus the trade was closed. Human beings were disposed of with as little feeling as if they had been wild animals.
"I'm sorry you won't, young Miss, let me have that maid of yourn; but I'll be 'long next fall, and, fur a good price, I 'spect you'll be willin' to trade. I wants that yallow wench," and he clicked his fingers at me.
"Say, Peterkin, ken you lend me a wagen to take 'em over to my pen?"
"Oh, yes; and Nace can drive 'em over."