"Why, Aunt Rachel, it's slavery!" cried the lady in dismay. Aunt Rachel did not offer to dispute her declaration.
"Yas'm, hit's slavery," she agreed. "I hates it mighty bad, too, 'cause I wanted de little chillens in school; but—" The old woman broke down and sobbed.
A knocking came at the door; hastily wiping her eyes Aunt Rachel rose.
"I'll—I'll see what I can do, Aunt Rachel—I must do something," murmured Miss Smith hastily, as the woman departed, and an old black man came limping in. Miss Smith looked up in surprise.
"I begs pardon, Mistress—I begs pardon. Good-morning."
"Good-morning—" she hesitated.
"Sykes—Jim Sykes—that's me."
"Yes, I've heard of you, Mr. Sykes; you live over south of the swamp."
"Yes, ma'am, that's me; and I'se got a little shack dar and a bit of land what I'se trying to buy."
"Of Colonel Cresswell?"