I couldn't do
a thing, ef I didn't.'
'Yes, you could. Come North. I'll give you honest work to do.'
'You're a gentleman, Mr. Kirke, an' I'm 'bliged ter ye; but I karn't
leave yere. I've got a wife an' chil'ren, an' the' wouldn't live 'mong
ye abolitionists, nohow.'
'You have a wife and children?'
'Yas'; a wife, an' two as likely young 'uns as ye ever seed--boy 'bout
seven, an' gal 'bout twelve.'
'Well, Larkin, suppose _your_ little girl was upon that auction block;
suppose some villain had hired _me_ to aid in debauching her; suppose
you, her father, should come to me and plead with me not to do it;
suppose I should tell you what you have told me, and then--should go out
and buy _your_ child; what would you do? Would you not curse me with
your very last breath?'
He seated himself, and hung down his head, but made no reply.
'Answer me, like the honest man you are.'
'Wall, I reckon I shud.'
'Selma is to marry my adopted son. She is as dear to me as your child is
to you. Can you do to her, what you would curse me for doing to _your_
child? Look me in the face. Don't flinch--answer me!'
I rose, and stood before him. In a few moments he also rose, and,
looking me squarely in the eye--there was a tear in his--he brought his
hand down upon mine with a concussion that might have been heard a mile
off, and said:
'No, I'm d--d ter h--ef I kin.'
'You are a splendid, noble fellow, Larkin.'
'Ye're 'bout th' fust man thet ever said so, Mr.
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