onishment.

"I 'spect dem de good ladies f'om de Norf, what come down to show de
cullud folks how to do readin'," answered Peter bravely. "It do look
kind o' comfo'ble over here," he added wistfully, half to himself. He
could not understand even now how oblivious she was of the great
changes on St. Helena's.

There were curious eyes watching from the fields, and here by the
roadside an aged black woman came to her cabin door.

"Lord!" exclaimed Peter, "what kin I do now? An' ole Sibyl, she's done
crazy too, and dey'll be mischievous together."

The steer could not be hurried past, and Sibyl came and leaned against
the wheel. "Mornin', mistis," said Sibyl, "an' yo' too, Peter. How's
all? Day ob judgment's comin' in mornin'! Some nice buttermilk? I done
git rich; t'at's my cow," and she pointed to the field and chuckled.
Peter felt as if his brain were turning. "Bless de Lord, I no more
slave," said old Sibyl, looking up with impudent scrutiny at her old
mistress's impassive face. "Yo' know Mars' Middleton, what yo' buy me
f'om? He my foster-brother; we push away from same breast. He got
trouble, po' gen'elman; he sorry to sell Sibyl; he give me silver
dollar dat day, an' feel bad. 'Neber min', I say. I get good mistis,
young mistis at Sydenham. I like her well, I did so. I pick my two
hunderd poun' all days, an' I ain't whipped. Too bad sold me, po'
Mars' Middleton, but he in trouble. He done come see me last
plantin'," Sibyl went on proudly. "Oh, Gord, he grown ole and
poor-lookin'. He come in, just in dat do', an' he say, 'Sibyl, I long
an' long to see you, an' now I see you;' an' he kiss an' kiss me. An'
dere's one wide ribber o' Jordan, an' we'll soon be dere, black an'
white. I was right glad I see ole Mars' Middleton 'fore I die."

The old creature poured forth the one story of her great joy and
pride; she had told it a thousand times. It had happened, not the last
planting, but many plantings ago. It remained clear when everything
else was confused. There was no knowing what she might say next. She
began to take the strange steps of a slow dance, and Peter urged his
steer forward, while his mistress said suddenly, "Good-by, Sibyl. I am
glad you are doing so well," with a strange irrelevancy of
graciousness. It was in the old days before the war that Sibyl had
fallen insensible, one day, in the cotton-field. Did her mistress
think that it was still that year, and--Peter's mind could not puzzle
out this awful