'Oh! do, massa! take us 'way from dis man; he bery bad, massa. He whip you' little Rosey 'case she couldn't walk all de way--all de way har, massa!' The water gathered in Preston's eyes as he asked: 'Why did they sell you, Phyllis? Why didn't I know of it?' 'Missus went to you, Master Robert, but you warn't to home. Master had to have the money right off. The trader was thar. Master couldn't wait till you come back. Oh! save me! He's takin' me to Orleans, to Orleans, Master Robert. Do save me! Think of the chil'ren, Master Robert. Oh! think of the chil'ren!' And she loosened her hold of his limbs, and wept as if her very heart was breaking. Preston's words came thick and broken, his frame shook, he almost groaned as he said: 'I would to God that I could, Phyllis; but I am in debt--pressed on every side. I could not raise the money to save my soul!' 'O my God! what will become of us?' exclaimed the woman. 'Think of little Lule, Master Robert! They've taken me 'way from her! Oh! what will become of her, Master Robert? What will become of _her_?' and she moaned and wept harder than before. He stood like a man on whom the sentence of death had fallen. A cold, glassy look came into his eyes, a thick, heavy sweat started from his forehead, his iron limbs seemed giving way under him. Placing my hand gently on his shoulder, I said: 'How much is needed, my friend?' 'I don't know,' he replied, pressing his head with his hands as if to keep it from bursting. 'How much, Phylly?' 'Twelve hundred, Master Robert--they sold us for twelve hundred?' 'Well, well, my good woman, don't feel badly any more. I'll let Master Robert have the money.' The woman stared at me incredulously for a moment; then, while the children came and clung to my coat as if I were an old friend, she said: 'Oh! bless you, sir! bless you! I will love you, sir! the children will forever love you for it.' A struggle seemed to be going on in Preston's mind. He was silent for some moments; then in a slow, undecided voice he said: 'It an't right; I can't take it, Kirke. I owe you now. I'm in debt elsewhere. A judgment has been got against me. My crops have turned out poorly, I've been to Virginia for money, and can't get a dollar. It would not be honest. I can't take it.' No words can picture the look on the woman's face as she said: 'Oh! do take it, Master Robert! _Do_ take it. I'll work. I'll make it. I can make it _very soon_, Master Robert. Oh! _do_ take it!' 'How much is the judgment?' I asked. 'Only six hundred; but old ---- has it, and he has no mercy. He'll have the money at once, or sell every thing--the negroes--every thing!' and he choked down the heavy groan which half-escaped his lips. 'Have you no produce at home?' 'Yes, about a thousand barrels of rosin; but the river is low. I can't get it down.' 'Well, that's worth five hundred where it is. Any cotton?' 'Only eleven bales--low middling.'