“Man, don’t you cry a heap?” she asked, shaking the round drops off and wondering why a perfect stranger should care so much for Marian.
“I’m so plaguy tender-hearted that I can’t help it,” was Ben’s apology, as he blew his nose vigorously upon his blue cotton handkerchief.
For a time longer he talked with her, treasuring up blessed words of comfort for the distant Marian, and learning also that Alice was sure Frederic would never marry again until certain of Marian’s death. He might like Isabel, she admitted, but he would not dare make her his wife till he knew for true what had become of Marian.
“And he does know it, the scented up puppy,” thought Ben. “He jest writ her that last insultin’ thing to kill her out and out; but he didn’t come it, and till he knows he did, he dassent do nothin’.”
This reasoning was very satisfactory to Ben, who, having learned from Alice all that he could, began to think it was time to cultivate the negroes, and putting the child from his knee, he said “he guessed he’d go out and see the slaves—mebby they’d like to trade a little, and he must be off in the mornin’.”
Accordingly he started for the kitchen, where his character had been pretty thoroughly dissected. A negro from a neighboring plantation had dropped in on a gossiping visit, and as was very natural, the conversation had turned upon the peddler, whose peculiar appearance had attracted much attention at the different places where he had stopped. Particularly was this the case at the house the black man Henry lived.
“He done ask a heap of questions about us colored folks,” said Henry; “how many was there of us, how old was we, and what was we worth, and when marster axed him did he want to buy,” he said “no, but way off whar he lived he allus spoke in meetin’, and them folks was mighty tickled to hear suffin’ ’bout niggers.’ Ole Miss say how’t she done b’lieve he’s an abolution come to run some on us off, case he look like one o’ them chaps down in the penitentiary.”
“Oh, Lord,” ejaculated Dinah, involuntarily hitching her chair nearer to Victoria Eugenia, who lay in her cradle.
Old Hetty, too, took alarm at once, and glancing nervously at her own grandchild Dudley, a little boy two years of age, who was stretched upon the floor, “she hoped to goodness he wouldn’t carry off Dud.”
“Jest the ones he’ll pick for. He could hide a dozen on ’em in them big boxes,” said Henry, and feeling pleased at the interest he had awakened in the two old ladies he proceeded to relate the stories he had heard “’bout them fetch-ed Yankees meddlin’ with what didn’t consarn ’em,” and he advised Dinah and Hetty both not to let the peddler get sight of the children for fear of what might happen.