cle?" he inquired carelessly.

Uncle Wellington's face assumed the ashen hue which does duty for
pallor in dusky countenances, and his knees began to tremble.
Controlling his voice as well as he could, he replied that he was going
up to Jonesboro, the terminus of the railroad, to work for a gentleman
at that place. He felt immensely relieved when the conductor pocketed
the fare, picked up his lantern, and moved away. It was very
unphilosophical and very absurd that a man who was only doing right
should feel like a thief, shrink from the sight of other people, and lie
instinctively. Fine distinctions were not in uncle Wellington's line,
but he was struck by the unreasonableness of his feelings, and still
more by the discomfort they caused him. By and by, however, the motion
of the train made him drowsy; his thoughts all ran together in
confusion; and he fell asleep with his head on his valise, and one hand
in his pocket, clasped tightly around the roll of money.

II

The train from Pittsburg drew into the Union Depot at Groveland, Ohio,
one morning in the spring of 187-, with bell ringing and engine puffing;
and from a smoking-car emerged the form of uncle Wellington Braboy, a
little dusty and travel-stained, and with a sleepy look about his eyes.
He mingled in the crowd, and, valise in hand, moved toward the main exit
from the depot. There were several tracks to be crossed, and more than
once a watchman snatched him out of the way of a baggage-truck, or a
train backing into the depot. He at length reached the door, beyond
which, and as near as the regulations would permit, stood a number of
hackmen, vociferously soliciting patronage. One of them, a colored man,
soon secured several passengers. As he closed the door after the last
one he turned to uncle Wellington, who stood near him on the sidewalk,
looking about irresolutely.

"Is you goin' uptown?" asked the hackman, as he prepared to mount the
box.

"Yas, suh."

"I 'll take you up fo' a quahtah, ef you want ter git up here an' ride
on de box wid me."

Uncle Wellington accepted the offer and mounted the box. The hackman
whipped up his horses, the carriage climbed the steep hill leading up to
the town, and the passengers inside were soon deposited at their hotels.

"Whereabouts do you want to go?" asked the hackman of uncle Wellington,
when the carriage was emptied of its last passengers.

"I want ter go ter Brer Sam Williams's," said Wellington.

"W