slowly shook
her head and he caught his breath in a sob, as he whispered: "Daid! My
baby, oh--"

"Sh-h! He's alive--your boy. It's worse than that, maybe--and they
never let you know! Mr. Larue had gone down to Mexico, and the
overseer has published all his slaves to be sold--all sold, and your
child--your little boy--"

"God A'mighty!"

He was silent after that half-whispered ejaculation. His face was
covered with his hands, while the woman stood regarding him, a world
of pity in her eyes.

"They can't sell Zekal," he said, at last, looking up. "Mahs Larue
tole me plain he give me chance. I got some o' the money, that
eighteen dollah I paid on Rosa's freedom--that gwine be counted
in--then I got most nine dollah 'sides that yet, an' I gwine Mahs Jean
Larue an' go down my knees fo' that boy, I will! He only pickaninny,
my Zekal, an' I promise Rosa 'fore she died our boy gwine be free; so
I gwine Mahs Larue, I--"

Margeret shook her head.

"He's gone, I tell you--gone to Mexico, more miles away than you could
count; sold to the sugar plantation and left the colored folks for
lawyer and overseer to sell. They all to be sold--a sale bill came to
Loringwood yesterday. Men like overseers and lawyers never take
account of one little pickaninny among a hundred. One same as another
to them--one same as another!"

Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands, rocking from
side to side, overcome by memories of what had been. Pluto looked at
her and realized from his own misery what hers had been. Again the
laughter and tinkle of tea things drifted in to them; some one was
telling a story, and then the laughter came more clearly. Pluto
listened, and his face grew hard, brutish in its sullen hate.

"And they can laugh," he muttered, sullenly, "while my baby--my Rosa's
baby--is sold to the traders, sold away where I nevah can find him
again; sold while the white folks laugh an' make merry," and he raised
his hand above his head in a fury of suppressed rage. "A curse on
every one of them! a curse--"

Margeret caught his arm with a command to silence.

"Hush! You got a kind master--a kind mistress. The people who laugh at
that table are not to blame on account of Rosa's master, who holds
your child."

"You stand up fo' the race that took yo' chile from yo?" he demanded,
fiercely. "That held yo' a slave when yo' was promised freedom? That
drove yo' wild fo' years with misery? The man is in that room who did