se, I leaned forward to see who was the man further on. Then I
stopped and asked him whose the land was he was working, when he began
an account of how "it used to be McTureous and Mr. Thomas Coffin buy
'em,"[203] which I cut short with--"Yes, I know that, but is it your
own now? What is your name?" "My name Able, ma'am; dis lan' mine, yes,
ma'am"--and then--"Oh! my Lord! Der Miss Hayiut, an' me no know um!"
and he dropped his hoe and came scrambling and running to the road.
Sarah and Elsie, whom I had just passed, and Martha further on, came
out at his call, grinning and pleased, and then he and Martha began
directly upon what I had done for Rose,[204] their gratitude, and
willingness that I should keep her forever. Then they talked of how
hard the last year or two had been, and there were many reiterations
of "Ebery word Mass' Charlie and Mr. Philbrick tell we come true."
"Tell 'em tousan howdy over for we--long too much for shum. We fin'
'em out now."

A few steps more brought me into the Pine Grove field, and I turned
towards the house, followed by half a dozen small children, only one
of whom I knew or knew me,--little Abigail. Towards the house whom
should I come upon but Flora and her Sarah, a great girl. She was
pleased as could be, but told me I should find no one at the Grove.
Old Monah was dead, and all the old people had bought land and lived
at the Point. They were working for Mr. Ward, glad enough to earn a
little ready money for food. I went on to see Mrs. Vaughn, and as she
had not come up from school, walked down to the praise-house, seeing
no one I knew but old Binah.

School had dispersed, so I walked back to the house, and dined there,
and then for Coffin's Point. Once inside the line--for the gate is
not--I met the familiar breeze of the Big Pasture, but its altered
face. The houses are back as far as the creek on one side and the
woods on the other,--two or three quite large and with piazzas,--the
praise-house near the corner of the wood. I was a long time passing
through it, for they all dropped their hoes and came down to shake
hands. I got Uncle George to follow along with hammer and nails to
mend the chaise, as the floor was so broken I could not put my feet on
it, and the bag of oats had dropped through on the way. I had tied the
halter to the dasher and wound it round the bag, so there was no loss.
The dilapidation was a pleasing reminiscence of old times, and George
was pleased enough to e