colored
people was gone, an' he was dat po' he didn't know where de nex'
moufful was a-comin' from. I come out behind him so,"--Aunt Chloe made
me her old master and my stool his rocking-chair,--"an' I pat him on
the shoulder dis way, an' he say, 'Chloe, is dat you? How is it yo'
looks so comfble like?' An' I say, 'It's you, Marse Henry; you done it
all; yo' teachin' made me what I is, an' if you study about it you'll
know it's so. An' de others ain't no wus'. Of all de colored people
you owned, dere ain't nary one been hung, or been in de penitentiary,
nor ain't knowed as liars. Dat's de way you fotch us up.'

"An' I love him yet, an' if he was a-livin' to-day I'd work for him an'
take care of him if I went hungry myse'f. De only fool thing Marster
Henry ever done was a-marryin' dat widow woman for his second wife.
Miss Nannie, dat looks a lil bit like dat chile you got dere before
ye"--and she pointed to the canvas--"wouldn't a been sot on an' 'bused
like she was but for her. Dat woman warn't nuffin but a harf-strainer
noway, if I do say it. Eve'body knowed dat. How Marse Henry Gordon
come to marry her nobody don't know till dis day. She warn't none o'
our people. Dey do say dat he met her up to Frankfort when he was in
de Legislator, but I don't know if dat's so. But she warn't nuffin,
nohow."

"Was Miss Nannie her child?" I asked, stepping back from my easel to
get the better effect of my canvas.

"No suh, dat she warn't!" with emphasis. "She was Marse Henry's own
sister's chile, she was. Her people--Miss Nannie's--lived up in
Indiany, an' dey was jes' 's po' as watermelon rinds, and when her
mother died Marse Henry sent for her to come live wid him, 'cause he
said Miss Rachel--dat was dat woman's own chile by her fust
husband--was lonesome. Dey was bofe about de one age,--fo'teen or
fifteen years old,--but Lawd-a-massy! Miss Rachel warn't lonesome
'cept for what he couldn't git, an' she most broke her heart 'bout dat,
much 's she could break it 'bout anything.

"I remember de ve'y day Miss Nannie come. I see her comin' down de
road totin' a big ban'box, an' a carpet bag mos 's big 's herse'f. Den
she turned in de gate. ''Fo' God,' I says to ole Sam, who was settin'
de table for dinner, 'who's dis yere comin' in?' Den I see her stop
an' set de bundles down an' catch her bref, and den she come on agin.

"'Dat's Marse Henry's niece,' he says. 'I heared de mistress say she
was a-comin' one