"Reckon how ya' had a right good old Boss what larn ye somethin." The boy listens to Harry with surprise. "Don't talk like dat down dis a way; no country-born nigger put in larn'd wods so, nohow," returns the boy, with a look of curious admiration. "But you harn't told me what place this is?" "Dis 'ouse! e' ant nowhare when Buckra bring nigger what he want to sell, and don' want nobody to know whar e' bring him from. Dat man what bring ye here be great Buckra. De 'h way he lash nigger whin e' don do jist so!" The boy shakes his head with a warning air. "How did you get here? There must be roads leading in some directions?" "Roads runnin' every which way, yand'r; and trou de woods anyway, but mighty hard tellin whar he going to, he is. Mas'r Boss don lef 'e nigger know how 'e bring'um, nor how he takes 'um way. Guess da 'h gwine to run ye down country, so God bless you," says the boy, shaking him by the hand, and taking leave. "Well! if I only knew which way I was going I should feel happy; because I could then write to my old master, somewhere or somehow. And I know my good friend Missus Rosebrook will buy me for her plantation,--I know she will. She knows my feelings, and in her heart wouldn't see me abused, she wouldn't! I wish I knew who my master is, where I am, and to whom I'm going to be sold next. I think new master has stolen me, thinking old master was going to die," Harry mutters to himself, commencing his breakfast, but still applying his listening faculties to the conversation in the next room. At length, after a long pause, they seem to have finished breakfast and taken up the further consideration of his sale. "I don't fear anything of the kind! Romescos is just the keenest fellow that can be scared up this side of Baltimore. He never takes a thing o' this stamp in hand but what he puts it through," says Bengal, in a whispering tone. "True! the trouble's in his infernal preaching; that's the devil of niggers having intelligence. Can do anything in our way with common niggers what don't know nothin'; but when the critters can do clergy, and preach, they'll be sending notes to somebody they know as acquaintances. An intelligent nigger's a bad article when ye want to play off in this way," replies the other, curtly. "Never mind," returns Bengal, "can't ollers transpose a nigger, as easy as turnin' over a sixpence, specially when he don't have his ideas brightened. Can't steer clar on't. Larnin's mighty dangerous to our business, Nath.-better knock him on the head at once; better end him and save a sight of trouble. It'll put a stopper on his preaching, this pesks exercisin' his ideas."