you are, madam," said the unknown, who waited for an
instant for the American lady to tell him her name.

"Mrs. Weldon," replied the latter.

"I? My name is Harris and I was born in South Carolina. But here it is
twenty years since I left my country for the pampas of Bolivia, and it
gives me pleasure to see compatriots."

"You live in this part of the province, Mr. Harris?" again asked Mrs.
Weldon.

"No, Mrs. Weldon," replied Harris, "I live in the South, on the Chilian
frontier; but at this present moment I am going to Atacama, in the
northeast."

"Are we then on the borders of the desert of that name?" asked Dick
Sand.

"Precisely, my young friend, and this desert extends far beyond the
mountains which shut off the horizon."

"The desert of Atacama?" repeated Dick Sand.

"Yes," replied Harris. "This desert is like a country by itself, in
this vast South America, from which it differs in many respects. It is,
at the same time, the most curious and the least known portion of this
continent."

"And you travel alone?" asked Mrs. Weldon.

"Oh, it is not the first time that I have taken this journey!" replied
the American. "There is, two hundred miles from here, an important
farm, the Farm of San Felice, which belongs to one of my brothers, and
it is to his house that I am going for my trade. If you wish to follow
me you will be well received, and the means of transport to gain the
town of Atacama will not fail you. My brother will be happy to furnish,
them."

These offers, made freely, could only prepossess in favor of the
American, who immediately continued, addressing Mrs. Weldon:

"These blacks are your slaves?"

And he pointed to Tom and his companions.

"We have no longer any slaves in the United States," replied Mrs.
Weldon, quickly. "The North abolished slavery long ago, and the South
has been obliged to follow the example of the North!"

"Ah! that is so," replied Harris. "I had forgotten that the war of 1862
had decided that grave question. I ask those honest men's pardon for
it," added Harris, with that delicate irony which a Southerner must put
into his language when speaking to blacks. "But on seeing those
gentlemen in your service, I believed----"

"They are not, and have never been, in my service, sir," replied Mrs.
Weldon, gravely.

"We should be honored in serving you, Mrs. Weldon," then said old Tom.
"But, as Mr. Harris knows, we do not belong to anybody. I have been a
slave myself,