"If that be the case," Mr. Seabrook thinks to himself, "it's quite as well. Our good lady friend will be fully satisfied. She only wants to see them in good hands: deacons are just the fellows." He very politely steps aside, lights his choice habanero, and sends forth its curling fumes as the bidding goes on. A person having the appearance of a country gentleman, who has been some time watching the proceedings, is seen to approach Graspum: this dignitary whispers something in his ear, and he leaves the mart. "I say, squire!" exclaims Romescos, addressing himself to the auctioneer, "do you assume the responsibility of making special purchasers? perhaps you had better keep an eye to the law and the creditors, you had!" (Romescos's little red face fires with excitement.) "No objection t' yer sellin' the gal to deacons and elders,--even to old Elder Pemberton Praiseworthy, who's always singing, 'I know that my Redeemer cometh!' But the statutes give me just as good a right to buy her, as any first-class deacon. I knows law, and got lots o' lawyer friends." "The issue is painful enough, without any interposition from you, my friend," rejoins the vender, interrupting Romescos in his conversation. After a few minutes pause, during which time he has been watching the faces of his customers, he adds: "Perhaps, seeing how well mated they are, gentlemen will not let them be separated. They have been raised together." "Certainly!" again interrupts Romescos, "it would be a pity to separate them, 'cos it might touch somebody's heart." "Ah, that comes from Romescos; we may judge of its motive as we please," rejoins the man of feeling, taking Annette by the arm and leading her to the extreme edge of the stand. "Make us a bid, gentlemen, for the pair. I can see in the looks of my customers that nobody will be so hard-hearted as to separate them. What do you offer? say it! Start them; don't be bashful, gentlemen!" "Rather cool for a hard-faced nigger-seller! Well, squire, say four hundred dollars and the treats,--that is, sposin' ye don't double my bid cos I isn't a deacon. Wants the boy t' make a general on when he grows up; don't want the gal at all. Let the deacon here (he points to the man who was seen whispering to Graspum) have her, if he wants." The deacon, as Romescos calls him, edges his way through the crowd up to the stand, and looks first at the vender and then at the children. Turning his head aside, as if it may catch the ears of several bystanders, Romescos whispers, "That's deacon Staggers, from Pineville." "Like your bid; but I'm frank enough to say I don't want you to have them, Romescos," interposes the auctioneer, with a smile. "Four hundred and fifty dollars!" is sounded by a second bidder. The vender enquires, "For the two?" "Yes! the pair on 'em," is the quick reply.