hundred, to say so, for he would not
stand there in the cold any longer for the six hundred dollars, niggar
and all, and he moved toward his horse as if to remount.

''Well, then,' said the man, who seemed determined to sell her at some
price, 'take her at six hundred if that's all you'll give.'

'Meminger drew out a blank bill of sale--that's the way they do it, you
know, have to have it in writing--and said to me:

''Here, Tom, you fill out this for me, for my hands have got so cold I
can't write.'

'He took a pen and ink from his pocket, and I filled out the bill of
sale while he counted down six hundred dollars in bills on the Northern
Bank of Kentucky, and paid them over. By the time the man had signed the
bill the ink was frozen solid.

''Hurry up!' says Meminger.

'The man having received his money, caught the child from its mother's
arms and started for the house without saying another word.

'The woman had all this time been shivering with the cold, and
apparently wholly occupied with the child in endeavoring to keep it
warm. She pressed it to her bosom, examined the ragged covering with
care and tenderness, and strove to draw her own scanty garment over it.
She seemed, in fact, so engrossed with her care of the child that she
had not comprehended that part of the negotiation which threatened to
part her from it. Perhaps she did not, in her blind maternal confidence,
conceive such a thing possible!

'When the child was roughly snatched from her, she paused an instant, as
if collecting her thoughts, and then, awakening to the reality of the
case, she started wildly after it. But Meminger was too quick for her.
He was used to such scenes. He caught her before she had gone three
steps, and rudely threw her down. She uttered scream after scream, and
implored him not to part her from her child. Turning alternately from
the unfeeling and repulsive countenance of the slave-trader to the
retreating form of her late master, who bore away farther and farther
from her all that she knew of love or hope on earth, her impassioned
entreaties touched every key-note of human agony from frenzy to despair.
It was of no use. Meminger regarded her feelings no more than I regarded
the lowings of my stock when I was in the droving business.

'He mounted his horse, brought him up alongside of a low bank, and
ordered the woman to get up behind him. This she did as one accustomed
to obey, groaning and crying piteously. He plac