"Why did your Masser sell you?"
"I don't know."
"Oh, that's what the most of 'em says. It 'pears so quare ter me for a Masser to sell good sarvants; but I guess you'll soon git a home; fur you is 'bout the likeliest yaller gal I ever seed. Now, thim rale black 'uns hardly ever goes off here. We has to send 'em down river, or let 'em go at a mighty low price."
"How often do you have sales?"
"Oh, we don't have 'em at all. That's we don't have public 'uns. We sells 'em privately like; but we buys up more; and when we gits a large number, we ships 'em down de river."
Wishing to cut short his garrulity, I asked him to show me the room where I was to stay.
"In here, wid de rest of 'em," he said, as he opened the door of a large shed-room, where I found some ten or twelve negroes, women and men, ranged round on stools and chairs, all neatly dressed, some of them looking very happy, others with down-cast, sorrow-stricken countenances.
One bright, gold-colored man, with long, silky black hair, and raven eyes, full of subdued power, stood leaning his elbow against the mantel. His melancholy face and pensive attitude struck a responsive feeling, and I turned with a sisterly sentiment toward him.
I have always been of a taciturn disposition, shunning company; but this man impressed me so favorably, he seemed the very counterpart of myself, that I forgot my usual reserve, and, after a few moments' investigation of my companions, the faces of most of whom were unpleasant to me, I approached him and inquired—
"Have you been long here?"