The negroes were well clothed, well fed, and the great majority of them looked exceedingly happy. They came across one group of boys and girls dancing and singing. An old man, in another group, had collected a number of eager listeners around him, and was recounting some marvellous tale; but occasionally there would be a sad face and a tearful eye, and Mr. Waldron sighed as he passed these, knowing that they were probably grieving over the home and friends they had left. As they came to one of the tents, the speculator said, “There is a sick yellow woman in there, that I bought in Maryland. She had to be sold in the settlement of an estate, and she has fretted herself almost to death; she is in such bad health now that I doubt if anybody will buy her, though she has a very likely little boy about two years old.” Mr. Waldron expressed a wish to see the woman, and they went in. Lying on a very comfortable bed was a woman nearly white; her eyes were deep-sunken in her head, and she was painfully thin. Mr. Waldron took her hand in his and looked into her sad eyes. “Do you feel much pain?” he asked, tenderly. “Yes, sir,” answered the woman, “I suffer a great deal; and I am so unhappy, sir, about my baby; I can’t live long, and what will become of him? If I only had a home, where I could make friends for him before I die, where I could beg and entreat the people to be kind to him and take care of him! ’Tis that keeps me sick, sir.” By this time Diddie’s eyes were swimming in tears, and Dumps was sobbing aloud; seeing which, Tot began to cry too, though she hadn’t the slightest idea what was the matter; and Diddie, going to the side of the bed, smoothed the woman’s long black hair, and said, “We’ll take you home with us, an’ we’ll be good to your little boy, me an’ Dumps an’ Tot, an’ I’ll give ’im some of my marbles.” “An’ my little painted wagin,” put in Dumps. “An’ you shall live with us always,” continued Diddie; “an’ Mammy’ll put yer feet into hot water, an’ rub turkentine on yer ches’, an’ give yer ‘fermifuge’ ev’y mornin’, an’ you’ll soon be well. Papa, sha’n’t she go home with us?” Major Waldron’s own eyes moistened as he answered, “We will see about it, my daughter;” and, telling the woman whose name was Ann, that he would see her again, he left the tent, and presently the camp. That night, after the little folks were asleep, Major Waldron and his wife had a long talk about the sick woman and her little boy, and it was decided between them that Major Waldron should go the next morning and purchase them both.