The rocker suddenly stopped its violent motion with an equally violent jerk, as the angry woman turned upon her husband. “No, I can’t guess,” she cried; “an’ I don’t want to. It’s enough to be settin’ an on’ry ol’ tramp down to my clean table, without havin’ me spend my time guessin’ who he is.” “But look a-here, ’Lizy, this is all different; an’ you don’t understand.” “Don’t care how different it is, I do’ want to understand.” “You’ll be mighty su’prised, I tell you.” “I ’low I will; I’m su’prised already at you puttin’ yourself on a level with tramps.” This with fine scorn. “Be careful, ’Lizy, be careful; you don’t know who a tramp may turn out to be.” “That ol’ humbug in there has been tellin’ you some big tale, an’ you ain’t got no more sense ’an to believe it; I ’spect he’s crammin’ his pockets full of my things now. Ef you don’t care, I do.” The woman rose and started toward the door, but her husband stopped her. “You mustn’t go out there that way,” he said. “I want you to go out, you an’ the childern; but I want you to go right—that man is the son of my ol’ master, my young Mas’ Tom, as I used to call him.” She fell back suddenly and stared at him with wide-open eyes. “Your master!” “Yes, it’s young Mas’ Tom Hatton.” “An’ you want me an’ the childern to see him, do you?” “Why, yes, I thought—” “Humph! that’s the slave in you yet,” she interrupted. “I thought thirty years had made you free! Ain’t that the man you told me used to knock you ’round so?” “Yes, ’Lizy; but—” “Ain’t he the one that made you haul him in the wheelbar’, an’ whipped you because you couldn’t go fast enough?” “Yes, yes; but that—” “Ain’t he the one that lef’ that scar there?” she cried, with a sudden motion of her hand toward his neck. “Yes,” said Nelse, very quietly; but he put his hand up and felt the long, cruel scar that the lash of a whip had left, and a hard light came into his eyes. His wife went on: “An’ you want to take me an’ the childern in to see that man? No!” The word came with almost a snarl. “Me an’ my childern are free born, an’, ef I kin help it, they sha’n’t never look at the man that laid the lash to their father’s back! Shame on you, Nelse, shame on you, to want your childern, that you’re tryin’ to raise independent,—to want ’em to see the man that you had to call ‘master’!” The man’s lips quivered, and his hand opened and shut with a convulsive motion; but he said nothing. “What did you tell me?” she asked. “Didn’t you say that if you ever met him again in this world you’d—” “Kill him!” burst forth the man; and all the old, gentle look had gone out of his face, and there was nothing but fierceness and bitterness there, as his mind went back to his many wrongs. “Go on away from the house, ’Lizy,” he said hoarsely; “if anything happens, I do’ want you an’ the childern around.” “I do’ want you to kill him, Nelse, so you’ll git into trouble; but jes’ give him one good whippin’ for those he used to give you.”