it a trial to stand up so
long, but all the while looking the spectators full in the eyes without
the least impatience. He suffered the man of the factory to walk round
him and push and pinch his muscles as calmly as though he had been the
show bull at a country fair. Once only, when the sheriff had pointed
across the street at the figure of Mr. Clay, he had looked quickly in
that direction with a kindling light in his eye and a passing flush on
his face. For the rest, he seemed like a man who has drained his cup of
human life and has nothing left him but to fill again and drink without
the least surprise or eagerness.

The bidding between the man of the factory and the student had gone
slowly on. The price had reached ten dollars. The heat was intense, the
sheriff tired. Then something occurred to revivify the scene. Across the
market place and toward the steps of the court-house there suddenly
came trundling along in breathless haste a huge old negress, carrying on
one arm a large shallow basket containing apple-crab lanterns and fresh
gingerbread. With a series of half-articulate grunts and snorts she
approached the edge of the crowd and tried to force her way through. She
coaxed, she begged, she elbowed and pushed and scolded, now laughing,
and now with the passion of tears in her thick, excited voice. All at
once, catching sight of the sheriff, she lifted one ponderous brown arm,
naked to the elbow, and waved her hand to him above the heads of
those in front.

"Hole on marster! hole on!" she cried in a tone of humorous entreaty.
"Don' knock 'im off till I come! Gim _me_ a bid at 'im!"

The sheriff paused and smiled. The crowd made way tumultuously, with
broad laughter and comment.

"Stan' aside theah an' let Aun' Charlotte in!"

"_Now_ you'll see biddin'!"

"Get out of the way foh Aun' Charlotte!"

"Up, my free niggah! Hurrah foh Kentucky."

A moment more and she stood inside the ring of spectators, her basket on
the pavement at her feet, her hands plumped akimbo into her fathomless
sides, her head up, and her soft, motherly eyes turned eagerly upon the
sheriff. Of the crowd she seemed unconscious, and on the vagrant before
her she had not cast a single glance.

She was dressed with perfect neatness. A red and yellow Madras kerchief
was bound about her head in a high coil, and another over the bosom of
her stiffly starched and smoothly ironed blue cottonade dress. Rivulets
of perspiration ran down over