He resumed his seat with somewhat of embarrassment. While he had been standing, I had observed that he was a tall man, and, though slightly bowed by the weight of years, apparently quite vigorous. He was not entirely black, and this fact, together with the quality of his hair, which was about six inches long and very bushy, except on the top of his head, where he was quite bald, suggested a slight strain of other than negro blood. There was a shrewdness in his eyes, too, which was not altogether African, and which, as we afterwards learned from experience, was indicative of a corresponding shrewdness in his character. He went on eating the grapes, but did not seem to enjoy himself quite so well as he had apparently done before he became aware of our presence. "Do you live around here?" I asked, anxious to put him at his ease. "Yas, suh. I lives des ober yander, behine de nex' san'-hill, on de Lumberton plank-road." "Do you know anything about the time when this vineyard was cultivated?" "Lawd bless you, suh, I knows all about it. Dey ain' na'er a man in dis settlement w'at won' tell you ole Julius McAdoo 'uz bawn en raise' on dis yer same plantation. Is you de Norv'n gemman w'at's gwine ter buy de ole vimya'd?" "I am looking at it," I replied; "but I don't know that I shall care to buy unless I can be reasonably sure of making something out of it." "Well, suh, you is a stranger ter me, en I is a stranger ter you, en we is bofe strangers ter one anudder, but 'f I 'uz in yo' place, I wouldn' buy dis vimya'd." "Why not?" I asked. "Well, I dunno whe'r you b'lieves in cunj'in' er not,--some er de w'ite folks don't, er says dey don't,--but de truf er de matter is dat dis yer ole vimya'd is goophered." "Is what?" I asked, not grasping the meaning of this unfamiliar word. "Is goophered,--cunju'd, bewitch'." He imparted this information with such solemn earnestness, and with such an air of confidential mystery, that I felt somewhat interested, while Annie was evidently much impressed, and drew closer to me. "How do you know it is bewitched?" I asked. "I wouldn' spec' fer you ter b'lieve me 'less you know all 'bout de fac's. But ef you en young miss dere doan' min' lis'nin' ter a ole nigger run on a minute er two w'ile you er restin', I kin 'splain to you how it all happen'." We assured him that we would be glad to hear how it all happened, and he began to tell us. At first the current of his memory--or imagination--seemed somewhat sluggish; but as his embarrassment wore off, his language flowed more freely, and the story acquired perspective and coherence. As he became more and more absorbed in the narrative, his eyes assumed a dreamy expression, and he seemed to lose sight of his auditors, and to be living over again in monologue his life on the old plantation.