ah. But I ain't got long ter live--"

"Oh, you'll be well in a few days, Uncle Ben."

"I mought an' den agin I moughtent. I been lyin' awake at night worryin'
'bout dat year o' mine. Ye see hit wouldn't do tall fur me ter go
walkin' dem golden streets up dar in Heben wid one o' my years lopped
off lake a shoat er a calf dat's been branded. Some o' dem niggers
standin' on dat gol' sidewalk would laugh at me. An' dat would hurt my
feelin's. Some smart Aleck would be sho ter holler, 'Dar come ole Ben.
But he ain't got but one year!' Dat wouldn't do, tall, sah."

Phil bit his lips to keep from laughing. He saw the thing was no joke
for the old man. It was a grim tragedy.

"What I wants ter axe, Marse Custis, is dat you promise me faithful, ez
my young master, dat when I die you come to me, get dis year o' mine
outen dis salt box an' stick hit back right whar it b'long 'fore dey
nail me up in de coffin. I des can't 'ford ter walk down dem golden
streets, 'fore all dat company, wid a piece er my year missin'. Will ye
promise me, sah?"

Custis grasped the outstretched hand and clasped it.

"I promise you, Uncle Ben, faithfully."

"Den hit's all right, sah. When a Lee make a promise, hit's des ez good
ez done. I know dat case I know who I'se er talkin' to."

He placed the piece of gristle back into the tin can, covered it with
salt, tied the linen cover over it carefully, put it back on the shelf,
locked the heavy oak door and handed Custis the key.

"I got annudder key. You keep dat one, please, sah."

Custis and Phil left the old man more cheerful than he had been for
days.

CHAPTER VII

As the sun was sinking across the gray waters of the river, reflecting
in its silver surface a riot of purple and scarlet, the master of
Arlington sat in thoughtful silence holding the fateful Book of the
Slave in his hand. He had promised his friend, Edmund Ruffin, to give
him an answer early next week as to a public statement.

He was puzzled as to his duty. To his ready protest that he was not a
politician his friend had instantly replied that his word would have ten
times the weight for that reason. So deep was his brooding he did not
notice the two boys in a heated argument at the corner of the house.

Robbie Lee had drawn his barefoot friend, John, thus far. He had balked
and refused to go farther.

"Come on, John," Robbie pleaded.

"I'm skeered."

"Scared of what?"

"Colonel Lee."

"Didn't you come to see