_Zoe._ George, leave me! I would be alone a little while. _George._ Zoe! [_Turns away overpowered._] _Zoe._ Do not weep, George. Dear George, you now see what a miserable thing I am. _George._ Zoe! _Scud._ I wish they could sell me! I brought half this ruin on this family, with my all-fired improvements. I deserve to be a nigger this day--I feel like one, inside. [_Exit_ Scudder, L. U. E. _Zoe._ Go now, George--leave me--take her with you. [_Exit_ Mrs. Peyton _and_ George, L. U. E.] A slave! a slave! Is this a dream--for my brain reels with the blow? He said so. What! then I shall be sold!--sold! and my master--O! [_falls on her knees, with her face in her hands_] no--no master, but one. George--George--hush--they come! save me! No, [_looks off,_ R.] 'tis Pete and the servants--they come this way. [_Enters inner room,_ R. U. E.] _Enter_ Pete, Grace, Minnie, Solon, Dido, _and all_ Niggers, R. U. E. _Pete._ Cum yer now--stand round, cause I've got to talk to you darkies--keep dem chil'n quiet--don't make no noise, de missus up dar har us. _Solon._ Go on, Pete. _Pete._ Gen'l'men, my colored frens and ladies, dar's mighty bad news gone round. Dis yer prop'ty to be sold--old Terrebonne--whar we all been raised, is gwine--dey's gwine to tak it away--can't stop here no how. _Omnes._ O-o!--O-o! _Pete._ Hold quiet, you trash o' niggers! tink anybody wants you to cry? Who's you to set up screching?--be quiet! But dis ain't all. Now, my culled brethren, gird up your lines, and listen--hold on yer bref--it's a comin. We tought dat de niggers would belong to de ole missus, and if she lost Terrebonne, we must live dere allers, and we would hire out, and bring our wages to ole Missus Peyton. _Omnes._ Ya! ya! Well-- _Pete._ Hush! I tell ye, 't'ain't so--we can't do it--we've got to be sold-- _Omnes._ Sold! _Pete._ Will you hush? she will har you. Yes! I listen dar jess now--dar was ole lady cryin'--Mas'r George--ah! you seen dem big tears in his eyes. O, Mas'r Scudder, he didn't cry zackly; both ob his eyes and cheek look like de bad Bayou in low season--so dry dat I cry for him. [_Raising his voice._] Den say de missus, "'Tain't for de land I keer, but for dem poor niggars--dey'll be sold--dat wot stagger me." "No," say Mas'r George, "I'd rather sell myself fuss; but dey shan't suffer, nohow,--I see 'em dam fuss." _Omnes._ O, bless um! Bless Mas'r George. _Pete._ Hole yer tongues. Yes, for you, for me, for dem little ones, dem folks cried. Now, den, if Grace dere wid her chil'n were all sold, she'll begin screechin' like a cat. She didn't mind how kind old judge was to her; and Solon, too, he'll holler, and break de ole lady's heart. _Grace._ No, Pete; no, I won't. I'll bear it. _Pete._ I don't tink you will any more, but dis here will; 'cause de family spile Dido, dey has. She nebber was 'worth much 'a dat nigger. _Dido._ How dar you say dat, you black nigger, you? I fetch as much as any odder cook in Louisiana.