"So I suppose you are some runaway slave?" said my grandfather, harshly.
"No, massa," rejoined the African, "no, massa; never run away—I free man. Good buckra give freedom; but then I lose kind massa, and"——
"Ay, ay," replied my grandfather, "but what about Plantation Joseph, in Trinidad?"
"Ky!" responded the man, as his eyes were bent upon his questioner, who again hid his face; "de buckra knows ebery ting; him like the angel of light to know the secret of the heart."
"Come nearer to the fire, Daddy Davy," said my grandfather, as he bent down to stir the burning coals with the poker.
Never shall I forget the look of the African; joy, wonder, and admiration were pictured in his face, as he exclaimed, while advancing forward—
"De buckra know my name too!—how dis?"
My grandfather having kindled a bright flame that illuminated the whole room, turned his face towards the African; but no sooner had the poor fellow caught sight of his features than, throwing himself at his feet, he clasped the old sailor's knees, exclaiming, "My own massa!—what for you give Davy him freedom? and now do poor negur die for want! but no, neber see de day to go dead, now me find my massa."
"Willie, my boy," said my grandfather, turning to me, "fetch my pocket-handkerchief off the sofa."
I immediately obeyed, but I used the handkerchief two or three times to wipe the tears from my eyes before I delivered it to him.