"Who? Marster. He know it. Ole 'Stracted ain' know it; but dat ain'
nuttin. _He_ know it--got it set down in de book. I jes waitin' for 'em
now."

A hush fell on the little audience--they were in full sympathy with
him, and, knowing no way of expressing it, kept silence. Only the
breathing of the old man was audible in the room. He was evidently
nearing the end. "I mighty tired of waitin'," he said, pathetically.
"Look out dyah and see ef you see anybody," he added suddenly.

Both of them obeyed, and then returned and stood silent; they could not
tell him no.

Presently the woman said, "Don' you warn put you' shut on?"

"What did you say my name was?" he said.

"Ole 'Str--" She paused at the look of pain on his face, shifted
uneasily from one foot to the other, and relapsed into embarrassed
silence.

"Nem min'! dee'll know it--dee'll know me 'dout any name, oon dee?" He
appealed wistfully to them both. The woman for answer unfolded the
shirt. He moved feebly, as if in assent.

"I so tired waitin'," he whispered; "done 'mos gin out, an' he oon
come; but I thought I heah little Eph to-day?" There was a faint
inquiry in his voice.

"Yes, he wuz heah."

"Wuz he?" The languid form became instantly alert, the tired face took
on a look of eager expectancy. "Heah, gi'm'y shut quick. I knowed it.
Wait; go over dyah, son, and git me dat money. He'll be heah torectly."
They thought his mind wandered, and merely followed the direction of
his eyes with theirs. "Go over dyah quick--don't you heah me?"

And to humor him Ephraim went over to the corner indicated.

"Retch up dyah, an' run you' hand in onder de second jice. It's all in
dyah," he said to the woman--"twelve hunderd dollars--dat's what dee
went for. I wucked night an' day forty year to save dat money for
marster; you know dee teck all he land an' all he niggers an' tu'n him
out in de old fiel'? I put 'tin dyah 'ginst he come. You ain' know he
comin' dis evenin', is you? Heah, help me on wid dat shut, gal--I
stan'in' heah talkin' an' maybe ole marster waitin'. Push de do' open
so you kin see. Forty year ago," he murmured, as Polly jammed the door
back and returned to his side--"forty year ago dee come an' leveled on
me: marster sutny did cry. 'Nem min',' he said, 'I comin' right down in
de summer to buy you back an' bring you home.' He's comin', too--nuver
tol' me a lie in he life--comin' dis evenin.' Make 'aste." This in
tremulous eagerness to the woman, who