s white as Tot, and his black hair curled in
ringlets all over his head; but, strange to say, neither he nor his
mother gained favor with the negroes on the place.

Mammy said openly that she "nuver had no 'pinion uv wite niggers," and
that "marster sholy had niggers 'nuff fur ter wait on 'im doutn buyen
'em."

But, for all that, Ann and her little boy were quite happy. She was
still sick, and could never be well, for she had consumption; though she
got much better, and could walk about the yard, and sit in front of her
door with Henry in her lap. Her devotion to her baby was unusual in a
slave; she could not bear to have him out of her sight, and never seemed
happy unless he was playing around her or nestling in her arms.

Mrs. Waldron, of course, never exacted any work of Ann. They had bought
her simply to give her a home and take care of her, and faithfully that
duty was performed. Her meals were carried from the table, and she had
every attention paid to her comfort.

One bright evening, when she was feeling better than usual, she went out
for a walk, and, passing Uncle Snake-bit Bob's shop, she stopped to look
at his baskets, and to let little Henry pick up some white-oak splits
that he seemed to have set his heart on.

The old man, like all the other negroes, was indignant that his master
should have purchased her; for they all prided themselves on being
inherited, and "didn't want no bought folks" among them. He had never
seen her, and now would scarcely look at or speak to her.

"You weave these very nicely," said Ann, examining one of his baskets.
Uncle Bob looked up, and, seeing she was pale and thin, offered her a
seat, which she accepted.

"Is this always your work?" asked Ann, by way of opening a conversation
with the old man.

"In cose 'tis," he replied; "who dat gwine ter make de baskits les'n
hit's me? I done make baskits 'fo mistiss wuz born; I usen ter 'long ter
her pa; I ain't no bort nigger myse'f."

"You are certainly very fortunate," answered Ann, "for the slave that
has never been on the block can never know the full bitterness of
slavery."

"Wy, yer talkin' same ez wite folks," said Uncle Bob. "Whar yer git all
dem fine talkin's fum? ain't you er nigger same ez me?"

"Yes, I am a negress, Uncle Bob; or, rather, my mother was a slave, and
I was born in slavery; but I have had the misfortune to have been
educated."

"Kin yer read in de book?" asked the old man earnestly.

"Oh yes,