Miss Edith's lady's-maid was whiter and fairer than her young mistress. The keenest observer could detect no negro characteristic in her looks or her manner. So fair and white was she, that her mistress had given her the name of "Lily." And yet she was a slave, and that which made her fascinating to the eye had given her a value which could be estimated only in thousands of dollars. Of her father and mother Lily knew nothing. One of her companions in bondage told her that she had been bought, when a child, on board of a Red River steamboat. That was all she knew, and all she ever was to know. Those who are familiar with the slave system of the South can surmise who and what she was.
Miss Edith was indolent, but she was sour and petulant, and poor Lily's daily life was not a bed of roses. All day long she had to stand by her exacting young mistress, obey her slightest gesture, and humor all her whims. Though she was highly valued as a piece of property by her owner, she had only one real friend in the wide world—a cold, desolate, and dreary world to her, though her lot was cast in the midst of the sweet flowers and bright skies of the sunny south—only one friend, and that was Dandy. He knew how hard it was to indulge all the caprices of a wayward child; how hard it was to be spurned and insulted by one who was his inferior in mind and heart.
Dandy had another friend, though the richest treasures of his friendship were bestowed upon the fair and gentle Lily. A wild, rollicking, careless piece of ebony, a pure negro, was his other friend. He was a stable boy, and one of the crew who pulled the four-oar race boat, when Master Archy chose to indulge in an excursion upon the water. His master, who in his early years had made the acquaintance of the classics, had facetiously named him Thucydides—a long, hard word, which no negro would attempt to utter, and which the white folks were too indolent to manage. The name, therefore, had been suitably contracted, and this grinning essence of fun and frolic was called "Cyd"—with no reference, however, to the distinguished character of Spanish history. But Cyd was a character himself, and had no need to borrow any of the lustre of Spain or Greece. He shone upon his own account.
With this introduction to Redlawn, and those who lived there, our readers are prepared to embark with us in the story of the young fugitives.
CHAPTER II.
THE EDITH GOES DOWN TO GREEN POINT.
"Shove off!" said Master Archy, in the most dignified manner, as he sunk upon the velvet cushions in the stern sheets of the four-oar boat.