“‘Twuz long ‘fo’ you got up, Aunt Milly,” added the old man, glibly, as he warmed up to his fiction. “Well, dat conjure doctor rode by de do’ on er white hoss, he did, en seh to me, ‘Rastus, you sick, en you mus’ git well ‘fo’ yo’ marster puts you up for sale, so you kin bring what you is wuff ter he’p him out ’n his scrape.’ En he up en ax me has I my rabbit-foot erbout me, en I tuk it out ’n my weskit pocket, en he seh, ‘Well, put it in de hot ashes in de back er de chimbly tell you hear er dog bark, en den tek it out en wash it clean in spring-water, en den keep it by you night en day,’ en when I done ez he tol’ me I got well.”
A chorus of wondering ejaculations rose from the superstitious listeners, and for a moment opossum meat and potatoes were forgotten. Aunt Milly looked at her husband tenderly. “Dat nigger would die fer Marse Herbert,” she thought. “He dat sick now he cayn’t hol’ his haid up; de sight er dat ’possum meat is gaggin’ ‘im, but he ’ll kill me ef I let on.”
“I don’t want yo’ ol’ ’possum meat,” said Rastus, rising and moving back to the fire. “I’m gwine ter lie down an’ git rested up fer ter-morrer. Ef dey ’ll let me, I ’ll dance er breakdown on dat auction-block en turn one er my han’-springs.”
“He certny is cuored,” said Aunt Winnie, gladly. “Dese conjure doctors beat de ol’ sort all ter pieces.”
The supper over, Aunt Milly slowly counted out her earnings and put them away; the table was moved back against the wall; Nelse got out his bones and began to play, and Len and Cæsar danced jigs till they sank to the floor in exhaustion. After this, plantation songs were sung, ghost-stories were told, and it was late when they went back to their homes.
The following day was a fine one. The air was bracing, and the sun shone brightly. The autumnal foliage had never appeared more beautiful; every color in nature seemed lavished on the hills near by, and the mountains, twenty miles away, blue as the skies in spring and summer, had faded into a beautiful pink.
The court-house and auction-block were in a village two miles from the plantations of the two Putnam brothers. Uncle Rastus and his family were sent over in the wagon of Herbert Putnam’s overseer, and Lawyer Sill came by in his buggy and drove Herbert to the sale.
“I thought I would stay away and let you attend to it for me,” said Herbert Putnam; “but my daughter thinks I ought to go. Brother George will be there to bid them in. He wouldn’t miss the opportunity to humiliate me again for anything.”
“You ought to be on hand,” replied Sill, as the other got into the buggy. “Your negroes worship you, and would feel hurt if you were not present. Your brother has acted very badly, and has made himself unpopular by it.”
“It was my father’s wish that I hold the home place, but George never could forgive me for it. If he had advanced money to me, as he has to total strangers, I should have paid out all right. He has a better head for business than I have.”