"Lord, mistess, what I t'ink o' freedom? Why, mistess, dese niggers is no mo' kakalate to take kur o' deyselves dan 'possum. An' I tells 'em so. Kase what is a nigger bedout white man? He aint nuthin', an' he aint gwine be nuthin' no ways dey fix it. An' dey aint gwine stay free, kase de Lord nuvver 'tends 'um to be nuthin' bedout white folks. Kase ev'ybody know nigger aint got no hade. I nuvver want no nigger be takin' kur o' me. I looks to my white folks to take kur o' me. I 'lonks to Mars' Robert an' aint gwine lef his plantation tell I die. What right Yankees got settin' me free, an' den karn't take kur o' me? No! niggers is niggers, an' gwine be niggers, an' white folks got to take kur on 'em tell end o' screeation. An' der Lord gwine put ev'y single one on 'em back in slavery jes' as sure as you born." True to his word, old Harrison refused to wear an article of clothing "ef de white folks didn't give it to him." And his daughter, wishing to give him a blanket, asked her former young mistress to let him think it was from _her_, or he would not take it. At last "Mars' Robert" was on his deathbed. Old Harrison went in to see him for the last time. "Mars' Robert," said he, "I got one reques' to make fo' you die." "What is it?" asked his master. "Mars' Robert, I want to be buried right outside de gate o' de garden lot where you an' Miss Lucy is buried, so I kin see you fus' on de mornin' o' de resurrection." "Harrison, you shall be buried _inside_ the lot with us," replied "Mars' Robert" distinctly, and a lady who heard it told me she never saw such radiant happiness as the old man's face expressed when these words fell on his ear. CHAPTER XVII. O bright-winged peace! long didst thou rest o'er the homes of old Virginia; while cheerful wood fires blazed on hearth-stones in parlor and cabin, reflecting contented faces with hearts full of peace and good will toward men! No thought entered there of harm to others; no fear of evil to ourselves. Whatsoever things were honest, whatsoever things were pure, whatsoever things were gentle, whatsoever things were of good report, we were accustomed to hear around these parlor firesides; and often would our grandmothers say: "Children, ours is a blessed country! There never will be another war! The Indians have long ago been driven out, and it has been nearly a hundred years since the English yoke was broken!" The history of our country, to our minds, was contained in two pictures on the walls of our house: "The Last Battle with the Indians," and "The Surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown."