"Is my good young
Miss wid'n?" he enquires, in the same whispering voice, holding his
cap in his right hand.
"Reckon how ye bes be gwine out a dat afo'h Miss come. Yer miss don'
lib in dis ouse." So saying, the girl is about to close the door in
the old man's face, for he is ragged and dejected, and has the
appearance of a "suspicious nigger without a master."
"Don' talk so, good gal; ye don' know dis old man,--so hungry,--most
starved. I lub Miss Franconia. Tell she I'ze here," he says, in a
supplicating tone, as the girl, regaining confidence, scrutinises
him from head to foot with the aid of her lamp.
The servant is about to request he will come inside that she may
shut out the storm. "Frankone knows old Daddy Bob,--dat she do!" he
reiterates, working his cap in his fingers. The familiar words have
caught Franconia's ear; she recognises the sound of the old man's
voice; she springs to her feet, as her heart gladdens with joy. She
bounds down the stairs, and to the door, grasps the old man's hand,
as a fond child warmly grasps the hand of a parent, and welcomes him
with the tenderness of a sister. "Poor-my poor old Daddy!" she says,
looking in his face so sweetly, so earnestly, "where have you come
from? who bought you? how did you escape?" she asks, in rapid
succession. Holding his hand, she leads him along the passage, as he
tells her. "Ah, missus, I sees hard times since old mas'r lef' de
plantation. Him an't how he was ven you dah." He views her,
curiously, from head to foot; kisses her hand; laughs with joy, as
he was wont to laugh on the old plantation.
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