“Oh dear, oh dear, how can I give it all up! I’ve fed that bird and his mate for years. He knows my voice. I can call him down out of that tree. Many a night when you were away in the war he sat close to my window and sang softly to me all night. When I’d wake, I’d hear him singin’ low like he was afraid he’d wake somebody. I’d sit down there by the window and cry for you and dream of your comin’ home till he’d sing me to sleep in the chair. And now we’ve got to leave him. Oh Lord, my heart is broken! I can’t see the way!” She buried her face on Tom’s shoulder and shook with sobs. “Hush, hush, honey, we must face trouble. We are used to it.” “But not this, Tom. It’ll tear my heart out when I have to leave.” “It can’t be helped, Annie. We’ve got to pay for this nigger government.” Eleven o’clock was the hour fixed for the sale. At half past ten a crowd of negroes had gathered. There were only two or three white men present, the Agent of the Freedman’s Bureau and some of his henchmen. They began to inspect the place. Tim Shelby was present, dressed in a suit of broadcloth and a silk hat placed jauntily on his close-cropped scalp. “That’s a fine orchard, gentlemen,” Tim exclaimed. “Yes, en dats er fine gyarden,” said a negro standing near. “Let’s look at the house,” said Tim starting to the door. Tom stood up in the doorway with a musket in his hand, “Put your foot on that doorstep and I’ll blow your brains out, you flat-nosed baboon!” Tim paused and bowed with a smile. “Ain’t the premises for sale, Mr. Camp?” “Yes, but my family ain’t for inspection by niggers.” “Just wanted to see the condition of the house, sir,” said Tim still smiling. “Well, I’m livin’ here yet, and don’t you forget it,” answered Tom with quiet emphasis. Tim walked away laughing. Tom stepped out of the house, and with his wooden leg marked a dead line around the house about ten feet from each corner. To the crowd that stood near he said in a clear ringing voice as he stood up in the doorway. [Illustration: 0158] “I’ll kill the first nigger that crosses that line.” There was no attempt to cross it. They did not like the look of Tom’s face as he sat there pale and silent. And they could hear the sobs of his wife inside. The sale was a brief formality. There was but one bidder, the Honourable Tim Shelby. It was knocked down to Tim for the sum of eighty-five dollars, the exact amount of the tax levy which Legree and his brigands had fixed. Tim was not buying on his own account. He was the purchasing agent of the subsidiary ring which Legree had organised to hold the real estate forfeited for taxes until a rise in value would bring them millions of profit. They had stolen from the state Treasury the money to capitalise this company. Where it was possible to exact a cash ransom, they always took it and cancelled the tax order, preferring the certainty of good gold in their pockets to the uncertainties of politics.