sir; the fellow is ignorant, and really
thinks I am an abolitionist. His zeal in politics led to his warmth. I
blame him very little," I replied.

"But he lied, Massa K----," chimed in Jim, very warmly; "you neber said
you war an ab'lishener."

"You know what _they_ are, Jim, don't you?" said the Colonel, laughing,
and taking no notice of his breach of decorum in wedging black ideas
into a white conversation.

"Yas, I does dat," said the darky, grinning.

"Jim," said his master, "you're a prince of a nigger, but you talk too
much; ask me for something to-day, and I reckon you'll get it; but go
now, and tell Chloe (the cook) to get us some dinner."

The negro left, and, excusing myself, I soon followed suit.

I went to my room, laid down on the lounge, and soon fell asleep. It was
nearly five o'clock when a slight noise in the apartment awoke me, and,
looking up, I saw the Colonel quietly seated by the fire, smoking a
cigar. His feet were elevated above his head, and he appeared absorbed
in no very pleasant reflections.

"How is the sick boy, Colonel?" I asked.

"It's all over with him, my friend. He died easy; but 'twas very painful
to me; I feel I have done him wrong."

"How so?"

"I was away all summer, and that cursed Moye sent him to the swamp to
tote for the shinglers. It killed him."

"Then you are not to blame," I replied.

"I wish I could feel so."

The Colonel remained with me till supper-time, evidently much depressed
by the events of the morning, which had affected him more than I should
have thought possible. I endeavored, by directing his mind to other
topics, to cheer him, and in a measure succeeded.

While we were seated at the supper table, the black cook entered from
the kitchen--a one-story shanty, detached from, and in the rear of the
house--and, with a face expressive of every conceivable emotion a negro
can feel--joy, sorrow, wonder, and fear all combined--exclaimed, "O
massa, massa! dear massa! Sam, O Sam!"

"Sam!" said the Colonel; "what about Sam?"

"Why, he hab--dear, dear massa, don't yer, don't yer hurt him--he hab
come back!"

If a bombshell had fallen in the room, a greater sensation could not
have been produced. Every individual arose from the table, and the
Colonel, striding up and down the apartment, exclaimed:

"Is he mad? The everlasting fool! Why in h--has he come back?"

"Oh, don't ye hurt him massa," said the black cook, wringing her hands.
"Sam hab been bad