As he sits contemplating this painful picture, Aunt Rachel enters
the room to inquire if Lorenzo breakfasts with them. "Why! old
mas'r, what ail ye dis mornin'? Ye don't seems nohow. Not a stripe
like what ye was yesterday; somethin' gi 'h de wrong way, and mas'r
done know what i' is," she mutters to herself, looking seriously at
Marston.
"Nothing! old bustler; nothing that concerns you. Do not mention
Lorenzo's name again; he has gone on a journey. Send my old faithful
Daddy Bob to me." Rachel hastened to fulfil the command; soon
brought the old servant to the door. His countenance lighted up with
smiles as he stood at the doorway, bowing and scraping, working his
red cap in his hand. There stood the old man, a picture of
attachment.
"Come in, Bob, come in!" Marston says, motioning his hand, "I wish
the world was as faithful as you are. You are worthy the indulgence
I have bestowed upon you; let me hope there is something better in
prospect for you. My life reproves me; and when I turn and review
its crooked path-when I behold each inconsistency chiding me-I
lament what I cannot recall." Taking the old man by the hand, the
tears glistening in his eyes, he looks upon him as a father would
his child.
"In a short time, Bob, you shall be free to go where you please, on
the plantation or off it. But remember, Bob, you are old-you have
grown grey in faithfulness,--the good southerner is the true friend
of the negro! I mean he is the true friend of the negro, because he
has associated with him from childhood, assimilated with his
feelings, made his nature a study.
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