l. I had abandoned the sketch of the chain as an
unnecessary incentive, and had begun again with my palette knife,
pottering away, nodding appreciatingly, and now and then putting a
question to clear up some tangled situation as to dates and localities
which her rambling talk had left unsettled.

"Yes, suh, down in the blue grass country, near Lexin'ton, Kentucky,
whar my ole master, Marse Henry Gordon, lived," she answered to my
inquiry as to where this all happened. "I used to go eve'y year to see
him after de war was over, an' kep' it up till he died. Dere warn't
nobody like him den, an' dere ain't none now. He warn't never spiteful
to chillen, white or black. Eve'ybody knowed dat. I was a pickaninny
myse'f, an' I belonged to him. An' he ain't never laid a lick on me,
an' he wouldn't let nobody else do 't nuther, 'cept my mammy. I
'members one time when Aunt Dinah made cake dat ole Sam--he war a heap
younger den--couldn't put it on de table 'ca'se dere was a piece broke
out'n it. Sam he riz, an' Dinah she riz, an' after dey'd called each
other all de names dey could lay dere tongues to, Miss Ann, my own fust
mist'ess, come in an' she say dem chillen tuk dat cake, an' 't ain't
nary one o' ye dat's 'sponsible. 'What's dis,' says Marse
Henry--'chillen stealin' cake? Send 'em here to me!' When we all come
in--dere was six or eight of us--he says, 'Eve'y one o' ye look me in
de eye; now which one tuk it?' I kep' lookin' away,--fust on de flo'
an' den out de windy. 'Look at me,' he says agin. 'You ain't lookin',
Clorindy.' Den I cotched him watchin' me. 'Now you all go out,' he
says, 'and de one dat's guilty kin come back agin.' Den we all went
out in de yard. 'You tell him,' says one. 'No, you tell him;' an'
dat's de way it went on. I knowed I was de wustest, for I opened de
door o' de sideboard an' gin it to de others. Den I thought, if I
don't tell him mebbe he'll lick de whole passel on us, an' dat ain't
right; but if I go tell him an' beg his 'umble pardon he might lemme
go. So I crep' 'round where he was a-settin' wid his book on his
knee,"--Aunt Chloe was now moving stealthily behind me, her eyes fixed
on her imaginary master, head down, one finger in her mouth,--"an' I
say, 'Marse Henry!' An' he look up an' say, 'Who's dat?' An' I say,
'Dat's Clorindy.' An' he say, 'What you want?' 'Marse Henry, I come
to tell ye I was hungry, an' I see de door open an' I shove it back an'
tuk de piece o'