"Dar, now, is you ever hyern
de likes er dat? Mah'ed! Cose I'se mah'ed. I'se mah'ed quick'en Marse
Bolling. Ain't you never hyern tell er Sarindy?"
"Sarindy?" repeated the girl, questioningly.
"Lawd, Lawd, Sarindy wuz a moughty likely nigger," said Uncle Levi,
proudly; "she warn' nuttin' but a fiel' han', but she 'uz a moughty
likely nigger."
"And did she die?" asked Betty, in a whisper.
Uncle Levi rubbed his hands together, and shifted the brushwood upon his
shoulder.
"Who say Sarindy dead?" he demanded sternly, and added with a chuckle, "she
warn' nuttin' but a fiel' han', young miss, en I 'uz Marse Bolling's body
sarvent, so w'en dey sot me loose, dey des sol' Sarindy up de river. Lawd,
Lawd, she warn' nuttin' but a fiel' han', but she 'uz pow'ful likely."
He went chuckling up the path, and Betty, with a glance at the fading
sunset, started briskly homeward. As she walked she was asking herself, in
a wonder greater than her own love or grief, if Uncle Levi really thought
it funny that they sold Sarindy up the river.
V
THE MAJOR LOSES HIS TEMPER
When Betty reached home the dark had fallen, and as she entered the house
she heard the crackling of fresh logs from the library, and saw her mother
sitting alone in the firelight, which flickered softly on her pearl-gray
silk and ruffles of delicate lace.
She was humming in a low voice one of the old Scotch ballads the Governor
loved, and as she rocked gently in her rosewood chair, her shadow flitted
to and fro upon the floor.
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