mmoveable and unmoved on the stone
which served him for a seat. We could see but little change in either
during the five years of our absence, each being a perfect picture, in
his way, of extreme but not decrepit old age in the men of his race. Of
the two, the black--if black he could now be called, his colour being a
muddy grey--was the most altered, though that seemed scarcely possible
when I saw him last. As for the Trackless, or Susquesus, as he was
commonly called, his temperance throughout a long life did him good
service, and his half-naked limbs and skeleton-like body, for he wore
the summer dress of his people, appeared to be made of a leather long
steeped in a tannin of the purest quality. His sinews, too, though much
stiffened, seemed yet to be of whip-cord, and his whole frame a species
of indurated mummy that retained its vitality. The colour of the skin
was less red than formerly, and more closely approached to that of the
negro, as the latter now was, though perceptibly different.

"Sago--sago," cried my uncle, as we came quite near, seeing no risk in
using that familiar semi-Indian salutation.[2] "Sago, sago, dis charmin'
mornin; in my tongue, dat might be _guten tag_."

"Sago," returned the Trackless, in his deep, guttural voice, while old
Yop brought two lips together that resembled thick pieces of overdone
beef-steak, fastened his red-encircled gummy eyes on each of us in turn,
pouted once more, working his jaws as if proud of the excellent teeth
they still held, and said nothing. As the slave of a Littlepage, he held
pedlars as inferior beings; for the ancient negroes of New York ever
identified themselves, more or less, with the families to which they
belonged, and in which they so often were born. "Sago," repeated the
Indian, slowly, courteously, and with emphasis, after he had looked a
moment longer at my uncle, as if he saw something about him to command
respect.

"Dis ist charmin' day, frients," said uncle Ro, placing himself coolly
on a log of wood that had been hauled for the stove, and wiping his
brow. "Vat might you calls dis coontry?"

"Dis here?" answered Yop, not without a little contempt. "Dis is York
Colony; where you come from to ask sich a question?"

"Charmany. Dat ist far off, but a goot coontry; ant dis ist goot
coontry too."

"Why you leab him, den, if he be good country, eh?"

"Vhy you leaf Africa, canst you dell me dat?" retorted uncle Ro,
somewhat coolly.

"Nebber was