e awful prospect of death and
inheritance, would take a long breath, and, blinking his eyes, drop his
hands at his side, saying, "You play 'er gran'dad."

But having once started to speak, the old man was seldom brief, and so
he would continue: "It's true dis ole banjo she's livin' in a po' nigger
cabin wid a ole black marster an' a new one comin' on blacker yit. (You
taken dat arter yo' gran'mammy, honey. She warn't dis heah muddy-brown
color like I is. She was a heap purtier and clairer black.) Well, I say,
if dis ole banjo _is_ livin' wid po' ignunt black folks, I wants you ter
know she was _born white_.

"Don't look at me so cuyus, honey. I know what I say. I say she was
_born white._ Dat is, she _de_scended ter me _f'om_ white folks. My
marster bought 'er ter learn on when we was boys together. An' he took
_book lessons_ on 'er too, an' dat's how come I say she ain't none o'
yo' common pick-up-my-strings-any-which-er-way banjos. She's been played
by note music in her day, she is, an' she can answer a book note des as
true as any _pi_anner a pusson ever listened at--ef anybody know how ter
tackle 'er. Of co'se, ef you des tackle 'er p'omiskyus she ain't gwine
bother 'erse'f ter play 'cordin' ter rule; but--

"Why, boy, dis heah banjo she's done serenaded all de a'stocercy on dis
river 'twix' here an' de English Turn in her day. Yas, she is. An' all
dat expeunce is in 'er breast now; she 'ain't forgot it, an' ef air
pusson dat know all dem ole book chunes was ter take 'er up an' call fur
'em, she'd give 'em eve'y one des as true as ever yit.

"An' yer know, baby, I'm a-tellin' you all dis," he would say, in
closing--"I'm a-tellin' you all dis caze arter while, when I die, she
gwine be _yo'_ banjo, 'n' I wants you ter know all 'er ins an' outs."

And as he stopped, the little boy would ask, timidly, "Please, sir,
gran'dad, lemme tote 'er an' hang 'er up. I'll step keerful." And taking
each step with the utmost precision, and holding the long banjo aloft in
his arms as if it were made of egg-shells, little Tim would climb the
stool and hang the precious thing in its place against the cabin wall.

Such a conversation had occurred to-day, and as the lad had taken the
banjo from him the old man had added:

"I wouldn't be s'prised, baby, ef 'fo' another year passes dat'll be
_yo' banjo_, caze I feels mighty weak an' painful some days."

This was in the early evening, several hours before the scene with which
this l