"This boy is not sound. I won't have him at any price," and he handed him back to Amy, who exclaimed, in a thrilling tone, "Thank God! Bless you, Masser!" and she clasped the shy little Ben warmly to her breast. Ben, whose intellect seemed clouded, looked wonderingly around on the group; then, as if slowly realizing that he had escaped a mighty trouble, clung closer to Amy. "Look here, nigger-wench, does you think to spile the sale of property in that ar' way? Wal, I'll let you see I'll have things my way. No nigger that ever was born, shall dictate to me." "No, father, I'd punish her well, even if I had to give Ben away; he is no account here, merely an expense; and do sell those other two girls, Amy's sisters." Mr. Peterkin then called up Lucy and Janey. I have mentioned these two but rarely in the progress of this book, and for the reason that their little lives were not much interwoven with the thread of mine. I saw them often, but observed nothing particular about them. They were quiet, taciturn, and what is usually called stupid children. They, like little Ben, never ventured far away from Amy's protecting wing. Now, with a shy step and furtive glance toward the trader, they obeyed their master's summons. Poor Amy, with Ben clasped to her heart, strained her body forward, and looked with stretched eyes and suspended breath toward Tompkins, who was examining them. "Wal, I'll give you three hundred and fifty a-piece for 'em. Now, come, that's the highest I'll give, Peterkin, and you mustn't try to git any more out of me. You are a hard customer; but I am in a hurry, so I makes my largest offer right away: I ain't got the time to waste. That's more 'an anybody else would give for 'em; but I sees that they has good fingers fur to pick cotton, therefore I gives a big price." "It's a bargain, then. They is yourn;" and no doubt Mr. Peterkin thought he had a good bargain, or he never would have chewed his tobacco in that peculiarly self-satisfied manner. "Stand aside, then," said the trader, pushing his new purchases, as if they were a bundle of dry goods. Running up to Amy, they began to hold to her skirts and tremble violently, scarcely knowing what the words of Tompkins implied. "Dey ain't sold?" asked Amy, turning first from one to the other; yet no one answered. Mr. Peterkin and Tompkins were too busy with their trade, and the negroes too much absorbed in their own fate, to attend to her. For my part I had not strength to confirm her half-formed doubt. There she stood, gathering them to her side with a motherly love. "What will you give fur this one?" and Mr. Peterkin pointed to Ginsy, who stood with an humble countenance. When called up she made a low courtesy, and went through the examination. Name and age were given; a fair price was offered for her and her child, and was accepted. "Take this boy for a hundred dollars," said Mr. Peterkin, as he jerked Ben from the arms of the half-petrified Amy.