ork widout
stoppin' all day, and whack you on de sole ob your foots if you dar say
one word. Was you eber whacked on de sole ob your foots?"

"No, never," replied Foster, amused in spite of himself by the negro's
earnest looks and manner.

"Ho! den you don't know yet what Paradise am."

"Paradise, Peter? You mean the other place, I suppose."

"No, sar, I mean not'ing ob de sort. I mean de Paradise what comes
arter it's ober, an' you 'gins to git well again. Hah! but you'll find
it out some day. But, to continoo, you's got eberyt'ing what's
comfrable here. If you on'y sawd de Bagnio slabes at work--I'll take
you to see 'em some day--den you'll be content an' pleased wid your lot
till de time comes when you escape."

"Escape! How can I escape, Peter, now that I have given my word of
honour not to try?"

"Not'ing easier," replied the negro calmly, "you's on'y got to break
your word-ob-honour!"

"I'm sorry to hear you say that, my friend," returned Foster, "for it
shakes my confidence in you. You must know that an English gentleman
_never_ breaks his word--that is, he never _should_ break it--and you
may rest assured that I will not break mine. If your view of such
matters is so loose, Peter, what security have I that you won't deceive
_me_ and betray _me_ when it is your interest or your whim to do so?"

"Security, Massa? I lub you! I's fond o' your smood babby face. Isn't
dat security enough?"

Foster could not help admitting that it was, as long as it lasted! "But
what," he asked, "what security has Ben-Ahmed that you won't be as false
to him as you recommend me to be?"

"I lub massa too!" answered the negro, with a bland smile.

"What! love a man whom you have described to me as the most obstinate
fellow you ever knew?"

"Ob course I do," returned Peter. "W'y not? A obs'nit man may be as
good as anoder man what can be shoved about any way you please. Ha! you
not know yit what it is to hab a _bad_ massa. Wait a bit; you find it
out, p'r'aps, soon enough. Look yar."

He bared his bosom as he spoke, and displayed to his wondering and
sympathetic friend a mass of old scars and gashes and healed-up sores.

"Dis what my last massa do to me, 'cause I not quite as smart as he
wish. De back am wuss. Oh, if you know'd a bad massa, you'd be
thankful to-day for gettin' a good un. Now, what I say is, nobody never
knows what's a-goin' to turn up. You just keep quiet an' wait. Some
slabes yar h