"I suppose we do strike a Northerner as extravagant," Mrs. Houston sighed helplessly, "but when one has so many slaves standing around, they must be kept busy. If I had to cook myself I don't suppose you would have had anything for dinner but baker's bread and fig preserves. You don't have slaves in Maine, either, do you?"
Everett met Judge Houston's eye and smiled.
"No," the old gentleman answered for him, "the Yankees imported them and found them unadapted to their climate, so they sent them down here and sold them to us. Now, I understand, they have decided they do not approve of slavery. Are you all that clever, Mr. Everett," he ended with a good humoured laugh.
"I have not read much on the subject," Everett answered, realizing that beneath the laughter there lay a deep seriousness. "But from what I have heard and from the reports of the Maryland Society, I had gotten the impression that many of the Southerners were in favour of emancipation."
"A great many are—in fact, some have gone so far as to give their slaves freedom. A man who died here last year, by his will, emancipated his slaves—there were nearly one hundred of them—and he also provided for their transportation to Africa with a full supply of agricultural implements and medicine and a year's provisions. It was a very good example he set, and one I hope will be imitated."
"Then you believe in emancipation?"
"I am in favour of emancipation with colonization. That is the only way it is possible. You can't allow slaves to be liberated and remain in the States, for in such a case the effect of an intermediate class between owners and slaves would be disastrous. The negroes must be either sent out of the country or remain slaves. There is no half way ground to be considered."
"From what you say, Judge Houston," Everett said, in the slight pause that followed, "I find myself wondering if you are a slave owner."
"Oh yes, I plead guilty, but in a very small way. We have five slaves, and I venture to say they wouldn't leave us if they could. Do you think so, Maria?"
Before answering, Mrs. Houston called the pleasant faced negro woman to her, "Cynthie, go upstairs," she said, an evident ruse to get the woman out of the room, "and bring me a—pocket handkerchief. I wanted to tell you about her," she continued when they were alone. "I asked her once what she would do if I set her free. Will you believe me?—she cried for a week and begged me every hour of the day please not to do it. You see, Mr. Everett, they feel they are a part of the family—and so they are. We take care of them just like they were children. Of course, we hear of cases where they are badly treated, but it is quite unusual."