The Major examined her carefully, and finding nothing to fault, silent. It was not his way to waste words in commendation. He merely turned from the horse to the negro, and asked, pointing to Bergan,—
"You see that young gentleman?"
"Yis, massa; sartin, massa." And Brick made an embarrassed bow, uncertain whither this conversation might tend.
"Well, that's Vic's master, and yours. It's your business to take care of her, and wait on him,—that is, do everything he tells you. Hereafter, you are to go to him for orders."
And quickly mounting his own horse, the Major rode off, without waiting for thanks or comments.
Bergan stood looking doubtfully at his new acquisition. Property of this kind gave him a novel sensation; he could not tell, on the instant, whether he liked it or no. Nevertheless, he recognized the inexpediency of discussing the matter with the dusky chattel himself; who, to represent him fairly, seemed in nowise displeased with his change of owners. He had opened his eyes a trifle wider at his sudden transfer, and uttered a mechanical, "Yis, massa,"—that was all. He now stood, tattered hat in hand, waiting for orders. Bergan was somewhat disconcerted to find that he had none to give. Finally, he asked,—
"What is your name?"
"Rubric, sah. But dey mos'ly calls me Brick."
"Ah, yes, I see. And your family name?"
"Hain't got no family, sah."