“Lor’s a-massy on me, young marse, wot I done to yo’ fo’ yo’ to be gwine ’way ’dout biddin’ a body good-by?” “I was not going to do anything of the sort. Besides, I have left you some tokens of my regard which you will find up in my room—a dozen or so of assorted mufflers, silk and worsted, of all colors, as many large linen or silk pocket handkerchiefs, a half bushel of mixed gloves, socks, slippers, etc. These last you may not be able to wear, but the mufflers and the handkerchiefs will be beauty and joy to you forever. And here—here is something to get you a winter outfit.” With this, he handed her a twenty-dollar gold piece, which took away her breath. The scamp, bad as he was, could be liberal, perhaps because he had more money than he knew what to do with. “Now I yeally do t’ank yo’, a hundred t’ousand times, young marster!” she fervently exclaimed. “One time will do. Now, good-by. Don’t let your husband tyrannize over you.” “Him! Po’ ole ’Rusalem? He! he! he!” laughed the woman. “He knows better ’an to ’tempt it! W’y, he’d no mo’ dare to get ’toxified an’ carry on dan he’d heave hisse’f inter de fire! ’Deed, ef ebber I cotched him at sich I’d make him fink de debil had got him sho. He taranize ober me! He! he! he! Yo’ make me laugh, young marster. Not but wot I lubs an’ ’specks ’Rusalem. He is one good, true ole man. Dat he is.” “I don’t doubt it. Good-by.” “Good-by, young marse. Gib my lub to young mist’ess w’en yo’ sees her, sah.” “All right. Good-by!” said Hanson, for the last time, as he hurried out of the house and ran gayly down the hill, whistling an air from “The Marriage of Figaro.” At the landing he found the boat already laden with his luggage, and ’Rusalem waiting to see him off. “Here, old man!” he called, and the patriarchal negro came up, and took off his hat. “Here is a token of my deep regard for you,” he said, and put a double eagle into ’Rusalem’s hand. The old negro bowed very profoundly, but said nothing. Such munificence deprived him of the power of speech for the moment. “Now, good-by. And here! Harken to a little parting advice. Don’t you let your wife tyrannize over you.” ’Rusalem drew himself up with all the dignity of a “lord of creation.” “Who, sah?” he demanded. “Wilet? No, sah! Wilet know her dooty too well, sah. I is de sup’eem yuler in my fambly, sah. Wilet no mo’ fink ob yunnin’ ’way offen de islan’ ’dout my leabe, dan she would jump inter de sea. No, sah! She knows wot she’d cotch ef she did! No, sah. I’s lord an’ marster ob dat ’oman! Yes, sah, I is fo’ sho—I mean fo’ true.” Hanson laughed to think how utterly dependent was this sable and self-deceived “supreme ruler” on his wife, for counsel, assistance, and everything else he needed. “T’ank yo’ berry much, sah, fo’ yo’ moneyifficence, an’ likewise yo’ good ’vice. Gib my dooty to de young madam, sah.” “I will,” said Hanson as he stepped into the boat.