“Oh, massa! dis niggar Dio know you; nebber forget you, massa; you remember de poor slave niggar who pulled de little boy out of de water?”
“Remember you, my good fellow!” exclaimed my father, wringing his hand. “I have never forgotten you; you saved my boy’s life, and probably my wife’s too. There they both stand, though you don’t perhaps remember them.”
Dio gazed at my mother, then at Dan and me.
“De lady, yes! remember her,” and he made an obeisance to my mother. “But de little boy him not know which,” and he looked first at me then at Dan.
“That’s the one,” said my father, pointing to me, “he has grown considerably since then, but he has not forgotten you.”
“No indeed I have not,” I said, “and now I know who you are, I’m doubly thankful that we fell in with you.”
“Ah, massa, dis niggar gone coon if you hadn’t found him,” answered Dio.
“I’m very glad that they did find you, Dio; but how did you happen to be in such a condition?” asked my father.
The negro fixed his eyes on my father’s countenance—
“Massa, me tell you de tru’s. Dat cruel man, Bracher, him make de poor niggar’s back sore wid de lash, and den, when he find I lub one darkey girl, him beat her too and den sell her for fifty dollars, ’cos she almost dead. It almost break her heart, and her jump into de riber and drown herself. Den Dio tink if him stay him shoot Masser Bracher, so him run ’way and say him find de good cap’n, de only white man who eber say one kind word to poor Dio. Him wander in de wood, and at last, when he hab noting to eat, him sink down and tink him die. Den come de tall doctor and de young gentleman, dey put new life into dis niggar. Ah! massa, let Dio stay here, him ready to be always your slave, an’ nebber, nebber want run ’way.”