“There’s plenty of time, Uncle Bob; take a seat, then, if we are to have a talk;” and Major Waldron lit his cigar, and leaned back, while Uncle Bob seated himself on a low chair, and said: “Marster, I come ter ax yer wat’ll yer take fur dat little boy yer bought fum de specerlaters?” “Ann’s little boy?” asked his master; “why, I would not sell him at all. I only bought him because his mother was dying of exposure and fatigue, and I wanted to relieve her mind of anxiety on his account, I would certainly never sell her child away from her,” “Yes, sar, dat’s so,” replied the old man; “but den my min’, hit’s made up. I’ve laid me up er little money fum time ter time, wen I’d be er doct’in uv hosses an’ mules an’ men’-in’ cheers, an’ all sich ez dat; de folks dey pays me lib’ul; an’, let erlone dat, I’m done mighty well wid my taters an’ goobers, er sellin’ uv ’em ter de steamboat han’s, wat takes ’em ter de town, an’ ’sposes uv ’em. So I’m got er right smart chance uv money laid up, sar; an’ now I wants ter buy me er nigger, same ez white folks, fur ter wait on me an’ bresh my coat an’ drive my kerridge; an’ I ’lowed ef yer’d sell de little white nigger, I’d buy ’im,” and Uncle Bob chuckled and laughed. “Why, Bob, I believe you are crazy,” said his master, “or drunk.” “I ain’t neder one, marster; but den I’m er jokin’ too much, mo’n de ’lenity uv de cazhun inquires, an’ now I’ll splain de facks, sar.” And Uncle Rob related Ann’s story to his master, and wound up by saying: