“‘You were forced into it, then?’ says Jim Taylor, speakin’ out straight and sharp. “‘Oh, forced,’ says she, makin’ shift to look up, ‘I couldn’t say forced.’ “But there were the big tears gatherin’ in her eyes--anybody could see she hadn’t had much say in the matter. “‘My uncle said,’ she goes on, ‘I could have some of the little ones sent out to me by-an’-by, an’ Mr. Johnson wrote very nice about it, and said he wouldn’t have no objections.’ “‘What d’ye say the party’s name is?’ axes young Taylor, very quick. “‘Johnson--Samuel Johnson,’ says the poor maid. “Well, if ye’ll believe me, the chap got so red in the face as if somebody had hit ’en. “‘Samuel Johnson,’ says he. ‘For the Lard’s sake, where does he live?’ “‘’Tis in California,’ says Tamsine; ‘he’ve a-got a farm--a ranch he calls it--at a place called Longwood.’ “‘Sakes alive!’ cries Jim, an’ he sits there gawkin’ at the maid. “‘Of all the durned cheek!’ says he at last, speaking in his queer fayshion. ‘If the boys around was to know he had the face to ax a young British girl to marry him, I tell ye what,’ he says, ‘he’d be lynched afore he knew where he was!’ “‘Dear, to be sure,’ cries Mrs. Mayne, a-clappin’ of her hands together, ‘what’s wrong wi’ the man?’ “‘P’r’aps he’s got a wife already,’ says Maria. “‘Maybe ’tisn’t the same Samuel Johnson,’ says I. ‘I d’ ’low I seem to ha’ heerd o’ the name afore.’ “‘’Tis a play-actin’ kind o’ a name,’ says Maria. “Poor Tamsine, she was so white as any sheet, an’ she did stretch out her hand an’ grab hold o’ Jim by the sleeve, an’ shake ’en. “‘Tell I quick,’ she cried; an’ then she drops her hand, an’ begins a-cryin’. “‘No, don’t tell me,’ she says; ‘don’t ye tell me nothing. I’m bound every way. I’ve a-passed my word,’ says she; ‘an’ he’s actually sent the money for my ticket. I can’t go back now!’ “‘Yes, but you shall go back,’ cries Jim, a-catchin’ of her by the wrist. ‘I’ll not stand by--no honest man could, an’ see a young girl--a good honest young girl, sold to such a chap as Johnson. Why, he’s a nigger!’ he cries. “Poor Tamsine, I thought she’d ha’ fell off the seat. “‘A black man!’ screeches she. “‘As black as my shoes,’ says Jim. ‘A great big, oily, dirty nigger,’ says he. “He didn’t pick his words, d’ye see. “‘Why, his head’s as woolly as a sheep’s back,’ he says. “‘No, my girl,’ he goes on, ‘it can’t be allowed.’ “‘But I’m bound,’ says Tamsine, wi’ her face working pitiful. “‘You are no more bound nor I am,’ says he. ‘The rascal’s imposed on ye shameful. He knows right well he’d no business to ax a white girl to marry him wi’out tellin’ her all the truth. Why didn’t he ax you straight if you’d be willin’ to take up wi’ a black man? But he knowed a deal better nor that.’ “‘But perhaps it isn’t the same Mr. Johnson,’ says Mrs. Mayne. ‘It ’ud be a pity for the maid to give up her husband if there was any mistake.’