I had promised Chad to stop long enough to inspect Miss Nancy's "tarr'pins," and so I waited until Chad's duties were over. "That's the cheekiest little coon ever come into the store," I hear the grocer say with a laugh. "I'd a-slid him out on his ear if he'd said much more." Chad looked over his pile of bundles--they lay up on his arm; the top one held in place by his chin--and asked with some anxiety: "Who, Jim? What did he do?" "Do! He waltzed in yesterday afternoon with his head up and his under lip sticking out as if he owned the place. When I told him to take the sugar back with him, he said he wasn't carrying no bundles for nobody, he was waiting on Miss Carter. He's out at the gate now." "Do ye hear dat, Major? Ain't dat 'nough to make a body sick? I been 'spectin' dis ever since he come. I'm gwinter stop dis foolishness short off." The old darky waited until the grocer had reached the street, then he shouted into the gloom of the narrow passage: "Here, Jim. Come here." The scrap in buttons slammed to the wicket gate and came running through the tunnel. "What you tell dat gemman yisterday when I sont you for dat sugar, wid yo' lip stickin' out big 'nough for a body ter sit on?" The boy hung his head. "You'se waitin' on Miss Caarter, is ye, an' ye ain't caarryin' no bundles? If I ever hear ye sass anybody round here agin, white or black, I'll tear dem buttons off ye an' skin ye alive--you'se caarryin' what I send ye for--do ye hear dat? _Free_, is ye? You'se free wid yo' sass an' dat's all de freedom you got." "I--didn't know--yer want me ter--caa'ry it back," said the boy in a humble tone, but with the twinkle of a smouldering coal in his eye. "Ye didn't? Who did ye think was gwine to caa'ry it back for ye? Maybe it was de Colonel or de Mist'iss or _me_?" Chad's voice had now risen to a high pitch, and with a touch of sarcasm in it which was biting. "Pretty soon you'll 'spec' somebody gwine to call for ye in dere caa'ridge. Yo' idea o' freedom is to wait on nobody and hab no manners. What ye got in yo' hand?" "Cigarette white boy gimme,"--and the boy dropped the burning end on the brick pavement of the yard. "Dat's mo' freedom, an' dat's all dis po' white trash is gwine to do for ye--stuffin' yo' head wid lies, an' yo' mouf wid a wad o' nastiness. Now go 'long an' git yo' pan." Chad waited until the boy had mounted the steps and entered the house, then he turned to me. "Po' li'l chin'ka'pin--he don't know no better. How's he gwine to git a bringin' up? Miss Nancy tryin' to teach him, but she ain't gwine make nuffin' of him. He's got pizened by dis freedom talk, an' he ain't gwine to git cured. Fust thing ye know he'll begin to think he's good as white folks, an' when he's got dat in his head he's done for. I'm gwine to speak to de Mist'iss 'bout dat boy, an' see if sumpin can't be done to save him fo' it gits too late; ain't nuffin' gwine to do him no good but a barr'l stave--hear dat--a barr'l stave!"