"It has been said that a dog was our last friend,
Bob: I now think a slave should have been added. Don't you think so,
uncle?" she enquires, looking at Marston, and, again taking the old
slave by the hand, awaits the reply.
"We rarely appreciate their friendship until it be too late to
reward it," he replies, with an attempt to smile.
"True, true! but the world is full of ingratitude,--very amiable
ingratitude. Never mind, Daddy; you must now tell me all about your
affairs, and what has happened since the night you surprised me at
our house; and you must tell me how you escaped M'Carstrow on the
morning of the disturbance," she enjoins. And while Bob relates his
story Franconia prepares his supper. Some cold ham, bread, and
coffee, are soon spread out before him. He will remove them to the
chest, near the fire-place. "Why, Missus Frankone," he says, "ye
sees how I'se so old now dat nobody tink I'se werf ownin; and so
nobody axes old Bob whose nigger he is. An't prime nigger, now; but
den a' good fo' work some, and get cash, so t' help old mas'r yander
(Bob points to old master). Likes t' make old master feel not so
bad."
"Yes," rejoins Marston, "Bob's good to me. He makes his sleeping
apartments, when he comes, at the foot of my bed, and shares his
earnings with me every Saturday night. He's like an old clock that
can keep time as well as a new one, only wind it up with care."
"Dat I is!" says Daddy, with an exulting nod of the head, as he, to
his own surprise, lets fall his cup.
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