"Nigger what
spect t' git hi' way up in da world bes lef dem tings." And so one
or two more screws are to be worked up for the better regulation of
the machinery of the plantation. As for Master Rosebrook-why, he
wouldn't sell a nigger for a world of money; and he doesn't care how
much they learn; the more the better, provided they learn on the
sly. They are all to be freed at a certain time, and although
freedom is sweet, without learning they might make bad use of it.
But master has had a noble object in view for some days past, and
which, after encountering many difficulties, he has succeeded in
carrying out to the great joy of all parties concerned.
One day, as the people were all busily engaged on the plantation,
Bradshaw's familiar figure presents itself at the house, and demands
to see Harry. He has great good news, but don't want to tell him
"nofin" till he arrives at the Villa. "Ah, good man" (Bradshaw's
face beams good tidings, as he approaches Harry, and delivers a
note) "mas'r specs ye down da' wid no time loss." Bradshaw rubs his
hands, and grins, and bows, his face seeming two shades blacker than
ever, but no less cheerful.
"Master wants me to preach somewhere, next Sunday,--I know he does,"
says Harry, reading the note, which requests him to come immediately
into the city. He will prepare to obey the summons, Dan and Sprat
meanwhile taking good care of the horse and carriage, while Bradshaw
makes a friendly visit to a few of the more distinguished cabins,
and says "how de" to venerable aunties, who spread their best fare
before him, and, with grave ceremony, invite him in to refresh
before taking his return journey into the city; and Maum Betsy packs
up six of her real smart made sweet cakes for the parson and
Bradshaw to eat along the road.
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