Mr. sheriff, being
sufficiently secured against harm, is quite indifferent about the
latent phases of the suit. He remarks, with great legal logic--we
mean legal slave logic--that Marston must object to the sale when the
children are on the stand. It is very pretty kind a' property, very
like Marston--will be as handsome as pictures when they grow up," he
says, ordering it put back to be got ready.
"Why didn't my mother come?" the child whimpers, dewy tears
decorating her eyes. "Why won't she come back and take me to the
plantation again? I want her to come back; I've waited so long." As
she turns to follow the gaoler--Nicholas still holds her by the skirt
of her frock--her flaxen curls again wave to and fro upon her
shoulders, adding beauty to her childlike simplicity. "You'll grow
to be something, one of these days, won't ye, little dear?" says the
gaoler, taking her by the hand. She replies in those silent and
touching arguments of the soul; she raises her soft blue eyes, and
heaven fills them with tears, which she lifts her tiny hands to wipe
away.
Nicholas tremblingly-he cannot understand the strange
movement-follows them through the vault; he looks up submissively,
and with instinctive sympathy commences a loud blubbering. "You're
going to be sold, little uns! but, don't roar about it; there's no
use in that," says the gaoler, inclining to sympathy.
Nicholas does'nt comprehend it; he looks up to Annette, plaintively,
and, forgetting his own tears, says, in a whisper, "Don't cry,
Annette; they 'll let us go and see mother, and mother will be so
kind to us-.
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