The "gal," who obeyed the summons, proved to be the sylph-like child that had guided the traveller to the house. To the expression of listlessness and desolation which he had previously noticed, there was now added a look of bewilderment and fear. He thought she might, perhaps, be a step-daughter of Mrs. Jackson; but how could so coarse a man as his host be the father of such gentleness and grace? While supper was being prepared, Mr. Jackson entered into conversation with his guest about the usual topics in that region,--the prices of cotton and "niggers." He frankly laid open his own history and prospects, stating that he was "fetched up" in Western Tennessee, where he owned but two "niggers." A rich uncle had died in Alabama, and he had come in for a portion of his wild land and "niggers"; so he concluded to move South and take possession. Mr. Noble courteously sustained his share of the conversation; but his eyes involuntarily followed the interesting child, as she passed in and out to arrange the supper-table. "You seem to fancy Leewizzy," said Mr. Jackson, shaking the ashes from his pipe. "I have never seen a handsomer child," replied Mr. Noble. "Is she your daughter?" "No, Sir; she's my nigger," was the brief response. The young girl reëntered the room at that moment, and the statement seemed so incredible, that the traveller eyed her with scrutinizing glance, striving in vain to find some trace of colored ancestry. "Come here, Leewizzy," said her master. "What d'ye keep yer eyes on the ground for? You 'a'n't got no occasion to be ashamed o' yer eyes. Hold up yer head, now, and look the gentleman in the face." She tried to obey, but native timidity overcame the habit of submission, and, after one shy glance at the stranger, her eyelids lowered, and their long, dark fringes rested on blushing cheeks. "I reckon ye don't often see a poottier piece o' flesh," said Mr. Jackson. While he was speaking, his wife had come in from the kitchen, followed by a black woman with a dish of sweet potatoes and some hot corn-cakes. She made her presence manifest by giving "Leewizzy" a violent push, with the exclamation, "What ar ye standing thar for, yer lazy wench? Go and help Dinah bring in the fixens." Then turning to her husband, she said, "You'll make a fool o' that ar gal. It's high time she was sold. She's no account here." Mr. Jackson gave a knowing wink at his guest, and remarked, "Women-folks are ginerally glad enough to have niggers to wait on 'em; but ever sence that gal come into the house, my old woman's been in a desperate hurry to have me sell her. But such an article don't lose nothing by waiting awhile. I've some thoughts of taking a tramp to Texas one o' these days; and I reckon a prime fancy article, like that ar, would bring a fust-rate price in New Orleans."