"BLINK"
I
It was nearly midnight of Christmas Eve on Oakland Plantation. In the library of the great house a dim lamp burned, and here, in a big arm-chair before a waning fire, Evelyn Bruce, a fair young girl, sat earnestly talking to a withered old black woman, who sat on the rug at her feet.
"An' yer say de plantatiom done sol', baby, an' we boun' ter move?"
"Yes, mammy, the old place must go."
"An' is de 'Onerble Mr. Citified buyed it, baby? I know he an' ole marster sot up all endurin' las' night a-talkin' and a-figgurin'."
"Yes. Mr. Jacobs has closed the mortgage, and owns the place now."
"An' when is we gwine, baby?"
"The sooner the better. I wish the going were over."
"An' whar'bouts is we gwine, honey?"