hat 's his street an' number?"

Uncle Wellington did not know the street and number, and the hackman had
to explain to him the mystery of numbered houses, to which he was a
total stranger.

"Where is he from?" asked the hackman, "and what is his business?"

"He is f'm Norf Ca'lina," replied uncle Wellington, "an' makes his
livin' w'itewashin'."

"I reckon I knows de man," said the hackman. "I 'spec' he 's changed his
name. De man I knows is name' Johnson. He b'longs ter my chu'ch. I 'm
gwine out dat way ter git a passenger fer de ten o'clock train, an I 'll
take you by dere."

They followed one of the least handsome streets of the city for more
than a mile, turned into a cross street, and drew up before a small
frame house, from the front of which a sign, painted in white upon a
black background, announced to the reading public, in letters inclined
to each other at various angles, that whitewashing and kalsomining were
"dun" there. A knock at the door brought out a slatternly looking
colored woman. She had evidently been disturbed at her toilet, for she
held a comb in one hand, and the hair on one side of her head stood out
loosely, while on the other side it was braided close to her head. She
called her husband, who proved to be the Patesville shoemaker's brother.
The hackman introduced the traveler, whose name he had learned on the
way out, collected his quarter, and drove away.

Mr. Johnson, the shoemaker's brother, welcomed uncle Wellington to
Groveland, and listened with eager delight to the news of the old town,
from which he himself had run away many years before, and followed the
North Star to Groveland. He had changed his name from "Williams" to
"Johnson," on account of the Fugitive Slave Law, which, at the time of
his escape from bondage, had rendered it advisable for runaway slaves to
court obscurity. After the war he had retained the adopted name. Mrs.
Johnson prepared breakfast for her guest, who ate it with an appetite
sharpened by his journey. After breakfast he went to bed, and slept
until late in the afternoon.

After supper Mr. Johnson took uncle Wellington to visit some of the
neighbors who had come from North Carolina before the war. They all
expressed much pleasure at meeting "Mr. Braboy," a title which at first
sounded a little odd to uncle Wellington. At home he had been
"Wellin'ton," "Brer Wellin'ton," or "uncle Wellin'ton;" it was a novel
experience to be called "Mister," and he set it d