He laughs in the exuberance of his
simplicity, and, with an air of fondness that would better become a
child, says, "Lor', young missus, how glad old Bob is to see ye!
Seems like long time since old man see'd Miss Frankone look so spry.
Got dat badge." The old man shows her his badge, exultingly.
"Missus, nobody know whose nigger I'm's, and old Bob arns a right
smart heap o' money to make mas'r comfortable." The old slave never
for once thinks of his own infirmities; no, his attachment for
master soars above every thing else; he thinks only in what way he
can relieve his necessities. Honest, faithful, and affectionate, the
associations of the past are uppermost in his mind; he forgets his
slavery in his love for master and the old plantation. Readily would
he lay down his life, could he, by so doing, lighten the troubles he
instinctively sees in the changes of master's position. The old
plantation and its people have been sold; and he, being among the
separated from earth's chosen, must save his infirm body lest some
man sell him for the worth thereof. Bob's face is white with beard,
and his coarse garments are much worn and ragged; but there is
something pleasing in the familiarity with which Franconia accepts
his brawny hand. How free from that cold advance, that measured
welcome, and that religious indifference, with which the would-be
friend of the slave, at the north, too often accepts the black man's
hand! There is something in the fervency with which she shakes his
wrinkled hand that speaks of the goodness of the heart; something
that touches the old slave's childlike nature.
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