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 JOEL 
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 L HARRIS 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924021979400 
 
3Soo!t6 bv Joel CbanlUr Harris. 
 
 NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS. Illus- 
 trated, izmo, $ 1.50 ; paper,- 50 cents. 
 
 MINGO, AND OTHER SKETCHES IN BLACK 
 AND WHITE. i6mo, $1.25 ; paper, 50 cents. 
 
 BALAAM AND HIS MASTER, AND OTHER 
 SKETCHES. i6mo, $1.25. 
 
 UNCLE REMUS AND HIS FRIENDS. Illus- 
 trated, izmo, £1.50. 
 
 LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER AND HIS 
 QUEER COUNTRY. Illustrated. Square8vo, 
 $2.00. 
 
 MR. RABBIT AT HOME. Illustrated. Square 
 8vo, $2.00. 
 
 THE STORY OF AARON. Illustrated. Square 
 8vo, $2.00. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 Boston and New York. 
 
DRUSILLA FELL ON THE GROUND IN A HEAP (Page 23) 
 
The Story of Aaron 
 
 (SO NAMED) 
 
 €fje £on of 2£>en 3Mi 
 
 TOLD BY HIS FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES 
 
 JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS 
 
 AUTHOR OF "UNCLE REMUS," ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY OLIVER HERFORD 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 (€be flitictsiue ptcs,8, Cambn&ge 
 
 1896 
 
 5 
 
""9. 
 
 -? 
 
 Copyright, 1895, 
 By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 
 
 Copyright, 1896, 
 By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
 The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., IT. S. A. 
 Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. The Language of the Animals .... 1 
 
 II. ArRiDE on the Black Stallion ... 19 
 
 III. Gristle, the Gray Pony, begins his Story . 34 
 
 IV. Gristle, the Gray Pony, concludes his Story 52 
 V. Rambler, the Track Dog, begins his Story . 69 
 
 VI. A Run through the Woods .... 86 
 
 VII. Rambler, the Track Dog, concludes his Story 103 
 
 VIII. Grunter, the White Pig .... 120 
 
 IX. The White Pig's Story 137 
 
 X. The Black Stallion's Story .... 155 
 
 XI. Free Polly's Story 172 
 
 XII. The Army marches by 187 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dkusilla fell on the Ground in a heap . Frontispiece. 
 Buster John went forward and knocked .... 6 
 
 Aaron showing the Mirror 10 
 
 A Ride on the Black Stallion 26 
 
 A Kabbit jumped up at their feet 38 
 
 They carried him some Green Corn 42 
 
 The Slave Train 46 
 
 Ben Ali had found two Friends 54 
 
 A Rabbit dashed across the Road 76 
 
 Old Grizzly brought him back 82 
 
 I was close to the Rabbit . 86 
 
 Mammy say dey wus courtin' 90 
 
 I looked up and whined 104 
 
 Young Grizzly bowed low . 114 
 
 The White Pig grew strong and dangerous . . . 122 
 Grunter asking the Red Squirrels for Nuts . . . 134 
 
 The White Pig tells his Story 140 
 
 A Wild Cat was watching me 144 
 
 Look on the Hill yonder ... ... 148 
 
 The Gray Mare leaped away from me .... 164 
 
 The White-haired Master cut the Rope. . . . 168 
 
 Aaron toted him down de Tree 182 
 
 De Squinch Owl lighted on A'on's Hand . • . . . 184 
 
 Two Soldiers rode along 188 
 
 Hrs Eyes lingered on the Portrait 192 
 
THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OP THE ANIMALS. 
 
 The story of how Buster John, Sweetest 
 Susan, and Drusilla found their way into Mr. 
 Thimblefinger's queer country has been set forth, 
 and many of the tales they heard there have 
 been told. All of this matter has been put 
 into a book, where the curious may now find it. 
 This being so, it is not necessary to go over it 
 again. Imitation is bad enough, but repetition 
 is worse. It is enough to say, therefore, that 
 these children whose names have been mentioned 
 lived on a large plantation in Middle Georgia, 
 in that part of the country where cotton grows, 
 where the mocking-birds sing in the orchards, 
 and where the roses bloom in the open air from 
 April to November. 
 
 There is nothing tropical or even semi-tropical 
 
2 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 in Middle Georgia. The trees and shrubs and 
 all of the wild flowers are much the same as those 
 that grow in New England. The summers are 
 not so hot nor the winters so long and cold in 
 Middle Georgia as they are farther to the north ; 
 but warm weather lasts longer, and that is the 
 reason that cotton and sugar-cane and watermelons 
 can be raised in Middle Georgia in the open air. 
 
 The plantation on which the children lived 
 appeared to be just like all the other plantations 
 round about, but the youngsters had already 
 found out that it was entirely different from the 
 rest in some respects. So far as they knew, and 
 they had made careful inquiries, there was no 
 Mr. Thimblefinger on any one of the neighboring 
 plantations, and there was no road leading from 
 any other plantation to Mr. Thimblefinger's queer 
 country. 
 
 On Sundays when there was a big meeting 
 going on at Mt. Zion church, and the congrega- 
 tion carried dinner in hamper baskets, Buster 
 John and Sweetest Susan and Drusilla (their 
 negro nurse and playmate) *took pains to inquire 
 among the children they met there if any of 
 them had ever seen Mr. Thimblefinger. The 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS. 3 
 
 reply was that they had not only never seen him, 
 but had never even heard of him before. This 
 made Buster John feel more important than ever, 
 and Sweetest Susan said she was surprised and 
 sorry that the other children should bave failed 
 to see Mr. Thimblefinger, and they so near his 
 queer country, too. As for Drusilla, she declared 
 that it made no difference, anyhow, " Kaze ef dey 
 wuz ter see 'im wid der naked eyes dey would n't 
 b'lieve dey seed 'im." But the neighbor-chil- 
 dren said nothing, they simply stared at one 
 another and concluded that Buster John and 
 Sweetest Susan and Drusilla were trying to make 
 fun of them. 
 
 If the neighbor-children had been wise, they 
 would have asked some questions about Mr. 
 Thimblefinger, and then they would have found 
 out that the Abercrombie place, as it was called, 
 was different from all the other plantations they 
 had ever heard of, being the scene of some of 
 Mr. Thimblefinger's performances, and contain- 
 ing within its boundaries the gateway to Mr. 
 Thimblefinger's queer country, which lies next 
 door to the world. 
 
 Those who have taken the trouble to read the 
 
4 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 book in which the stories told by Mr. Thimble- 
 finger and his friends are partly set forth will 
 remember that when Buster John, Sweetest 
 Susan, and Drusilla were on the point of return- 
 ing home, they were asked if they knew a man 
 named Aaron. To which Buster John replied 
 that he ought to know Aaron, since he was fore- 
 man of the field -hands. Whereupon Buster 
 John was told that Aaron was the Son of Ben 
 Ali, and knew the language of animals. " If 
 you want to learn this language," said Mr. 
 Babbit, " go to Aaron, Son of Ben Ali, take him 
 by his left hand, bend the thumb back, and with 
 your right forefinger make a cross mark on it. 
 Should Aaron pay no attention to it, repeat the 
 sign. The third time he will know it." 
 
 But the minds of the children were so busy 
 thinking of what they had seen and heard that 
 they forgot all about the matter. Once when 
 Buster John chanced to remember what he had 
 been told, Aaron happened to be ill in bed. 
 Another time, when the children determined to 
 find out something about the language of the 
 animals, they found that Aaron was away from 
 home. He had gone with the wagons to Au- 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS. 5 
 
 gusta, one hundred miles away, to sell the year's 
 crop of cotton. Thus, in one way and another, 
 Buster John, Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla were 
 many long months older when they sought and 
 found Aaron in his cabin than they were when 
 they made their last visit to Mr. Thimblefinger's 
 queer country. 
 
 Now Aaron was the most remarkable slave in 
 all the country round, not because he was tall 
 and finely formed, nor because he carried himself 
 as proudly as a military officer, but because he 
 had a well-shaped head, a sharp black eye, thin 
 lips, and a nose prominent, but not flat. Another 
 remarkable feature was his hair, which, instead 
 of being coarse and kinky, was fine, thick, wavy, 
 glossy, and as black as jet. 
 
 The negroes on the place seemed to be very 
 much afraid of him. This would not have been 
 strange if Aaron had been an old man ; negroes 
 always stand in awe of those who are very old ; 
 but he was not above forty, and seemed to be even 
 younger. There were many stories current about 
 Aaron, which the negroes told to each other in 
 whispers when their cabin fir.es burned low. One 
 was that he was a conjurer, and in league with 
 
6 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 the " old boy." This was because Aaron refused 
 to associate with his fellow servants on terms of 
 equality, and would allow them to take no liber- 
 ties with him. 
 
 Another story was that he was of Indian blood. 
 But he had no Indian characteristic, except that 
 of serenity. His color was dark brown. He was 
 both quick in his movements and fluent in his 
 speech, but his talk was different from that of 
 the negroes. Still another story about Aaron 
 was that he was very dangerous. It was whis- 
 pered that he had killed several people, a number 
 of women and children among them. This story 
 grew out of the fact that he alone could manage 
 Timoleon, the big black stallion. This horse, 
 wild in his ways and fierce of temper, was as 
 gentle as a dog in Aaron's hands, and followed 
 him about as the chicken follows the mother hen. 
 
 It was one Saturday, when Buster John, 
 Sweetest Susan, and Drusilla went to Aaron's 
 cabin. On the plantation there was a half -holi- 
 day every Saturday, if crop work was not press- 
 ing, and sometimes when the corn was laid by 
 the negroes had a whole holiday. This was the 
 case now. The children saw Aaron go into his 
 
BUSTER JOHN WENT FORWARD AND KNOCKED 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS. 7 
 
 cabin and half close the door after him. Buster 
 John went forward and knocked. There was no 
 invitation to " come in," as there would have 
 been at any other cabin in the negro quarters. 
 Instead, Aaron came to the door, pulled it open 
 and looked out with something like a frown on 
 his face. But he smiled when he saw the 
 children. 
 
 " Oh, you ?" he said with a laugh. " I did n't 
 know who. Jump in ! " 
 
 There was a step lacking among those leading 
 to the door, so he seized Buster John by the 
 hand and swung him into the room. Then he 
 lifted Sweetest Susan a little more carefully, but 
 ignored Drusilla altogether. This was not re- 
 garded by Drusilla as a slight, for she was not 
 anxious to be touched by him. She was not 
 even anxious to go into the cabin, but her 
 curiosity was more powerful than her vague 
 fears, and so, after a while, she followed the 
 children in. 
 
 Aaron, still smiling, lifted Buster John high in 
 the air. " Le' me see ; like enough you 'd weigh 
 ninety poun'." 
 
 " Eighty-seven," replied Buster John. 
 
8 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 "Heavy! heavy!" exclaimed Aaron. "One 
 time I toted your uncle all night long. He was 
 sixteen-year old and weighed fifty poun\" 
 
 " That was Uncle Crotchet, who is dead," said 
 Buster John. 
 
 "Yes. Folks named him Little Crotchet," 
 Aaron remarked. 
 
 " That was ever so long ago," suggested 
 Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " Fifteen year," said Aaron. 
 
 Meanwhile Buster John pretended to be play- 
 ing with Aaron's left hand. Finally he seized 
 the thumb, bent it back as far as it would go, 
 and made a cross-mark on it. Aaron playfully 
 jerked his hand away, but Buster John caught it 
 again, bent the thumb back and again made the 
 cross-mark. Apparently Aaron paid no attention 
 to this, for he failed to take his hand away. 
 Once more, and for the third time, Buster John 
 bent the thumb back and made the cross-mark. 
 At once Aaron put him gently aside and went to 
 the door and closed it. Then he turned to 
 Buster John and said in a whisper : — 
 
 " How come ? Where you been ? Who told 
 you?" 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS. 9 
 
 Buster John was so much surprised that he 
 hesitated a moment, and then began to reply in a 
 tone of voice somewhat louder than usual. 
 
 " Sh-sh ! talk low ! " whispered Aaron. " Did 
 somebody tell you to do that ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Buster John. 
 
 " Round anywhere by the spring ? " Aaron 
 was very cautious in putting his questions. Ap- 
 parently he wanted to make himself perfectly 
 sure. 
 
 " Yes," cried Sweetest Susan. " The spring is 
 the gate, you know." 
 
 "She, too?" asked Aaron, nodding his head 
 toward Drusilla. 
 
 " Of course," said Buster John. 
 
 " I dunner how come I can't go whar de 
 yuthers does," remarked Drusilla. 
 
 "All right — all right ! " exclaimed Aaron. 
 Then he counted them. " One — two — three ! 
 And now you 've come to me. What for ? " 
 
 "We want to learn how to talk with the 
 animals," said Buster John. 
 
 Aaron, who had been frowning a little, seemed 
 to be relieved. The frown disappeared. 
 
 " Oho," he cried, " is that all ? 'T ain't much, 
 
10 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 yet it 's a heap. You '11 hear lots of sassy talk. 
 Sometimes, maybe, you '11 have to stop up your 
 ears." 
 
 " We won't mind that," remarked Buster 
 John. 
 
 "Maybe not," said Aaron. Then he went 
 to a large wooden chest that sat in the corner, 
 unlocked it, and presently brought forth a 
 bundle of red cloth. This he placed on the 
 floor and sat beside it, motioning the children to 
 sit on the floor in a circle around the bundle. 
 He unrolled the cloth until he came to an oval- 
 shaped mirror. The frame was heavy and richly 
 carved, and shone as bright as new silver shines. 
 
 Aaron placed the beautiful mirror carefully on 
 the floor, face up. Then he threw the red cloth 
 over his head and over the children's heads. If 
 any one had been peeping through the chinks of 
 the chimney he would have been very much 
 puzzled by what he saw and heard. He would 
 have seen the red cloth bobbing up and down as 
 if those underneath were bowing their heads 
 back and forth, and he would have heard muffled 
 exclamations of wonder, the loudest of all being 
 Drusilla's involuntary cry : — 
 
o 
 
 w 
 B 
 
 H 
 
 O 
 S3 
 
 o 
 
 B 
 
 Si 
 
 o 
 
 Hi 
 
 < 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS. 11 
 
 " Don't dat beat all ! " 
 
 The children never told what happened under 
 the cloth, nor what they saw in the mirror. 
 When Aaron rose to his feet, the cloth still over 
 his head, he made a few movements with his 
 arms, and lo ! there was the bundle in his hands 
 with the mirror wrapped in its folds. 
 
 Sweetest Susan looked at Buster John. 
 " Was n't it easy ? " she cried. " Did you ever 
 see anything as bright " — She would have 
 said more, but Aaron touched her gently on the 
 arm and put his ringer on his lips. At that 
 moment a gander in the spring lot began to 
 scream. 
 
 " What did he say ? " asked Aaron, looking 
 at Drusilla. 
 
 " He say, ' I 'm gwine atter water — water — 
 who wanter go ? ' " 
 
 Aaron seemed satisfied with the answer. He 
 replaced the bundle in the chest, turned the key 
 and then leaned against the rude mantel shelf he 
 had nailed over his fireplace. 
 
 " You think I 'm a nigger, don't you ? " He 
 turned to Buster John. 
 
 " Of course," said the youngster without hesi- 
 tation. " What else are you ? " 
 
12 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " I '11 show you." From his pocket Aaron 
 drew a little package — something wrapped in 
 soft leather and securely tied. It was a memo- 
 randum book. Opening this small book, Aaron 
 held it toward Buster John, saying " What 's 
 here?" 
 
 "It looks like pothooks," replied the boy, 
 frankly. 
 
 " Ain't a word in it I can't read," said Aaron. 
 
 " Read some of it, please," pleaded Sweetest 
 Susan. 
 
 Thereupon Aaron began to read from the 
 book in a strange tongue, the tone of his voice 
 taking on modulations the children had never 
 heard before. 
 
 " I ain't never hear no jabber like dat," said 
 Drusilla. 
 
 "What sort of talk is it?" asked Buster 
 John. 
 
 " 'T ain't no creetur talk," remarked Drusilla ; 
 " I know dat mighty well." 
 
 "It's the talk of Ben Ali," said Aaron — 
 " Ben Ali, my daddy. Every word here was put 
 down by him." 
 
 "Why, I've heard grandpa talk about uncle 
 Ben Ali," suggested Buster John. 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS. 13 
 
 Aaron nodded. " Many a time. Your grand- 
 pa, my master, tried to buy my daddy, but Ben 
 Ali was worth too much. I went to see him 
 with my master twice a year till he died. He 
 was no nigger." 
 
 " What then ? " Buster John asked. 
 
 " Arab — man of the desert — slave hunter — 
 all put down here," said Aaron, tapping the little 
 book with his finger. 
 
 The children were anxious to hear more about 
 Ben Ah, the Arab — Ben Ali the slave hunter, 
 who had himself become a slave. There was not 
 much to tell, but that little was full of interest as 
 Aaron told it, sitting in his door, the . children 
 on the steps below him. For the most part the 
 book was a diary of events that had happened 
 to Ben Ah after he landed in this country, being 
 written in one of the desert dialects ; but the 
 first few pages told how the Arab chief happened 
 to be a slave. 
 
 Ben Ah was the leader of a band that made 
 constant war on some of the African tribes in the 
 Senegambian region. With their captives, this 
 band of Arabs frequently pushed on to the 
 Guinea coast and there sold them to the slave 
 
14 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 traders. These excursions continued until, on 
 one occasion, the Arabs chanced to clash with 
 a war-loving tribe, which was also engaged in 
 plundering and raiding its neighbors. The 
 meeting was unexpected to the Arabs, but not to 
 the Africans. The Arabs who were left alive 
 were led captive to the coast and there sold with 
 other prisoners to slave traders. Among them 
 was Ben Ah, who was then not more than thirty 
 years old. With the rest, he was brought to 
 America, where he was sold to a Virginian 
 planter, fetching a very high price. Along with 
 him, in the same ship, was an Arab girl, and she 
 was also bought by the planter. Nothing was 
 said in the diary in regard to the history of this 
 girl, except that she became Ben Ali's wife, and 
 bore him a son and a daughter. The son was 
 Aaron, so named. The daughter died while yet 
 a child. 
 
 These things Aaron told the children, little by 
 little and in a rambling way, begging Buster 
 John and Sweetest Susan to say nothing about 
 the matter to any other person, and threatening 
 Drusilla with uplifted finger that if she opened 
 her mouth about it he would put " the misery " 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS. 15 
 
 on her. Drusilla had seen negroes who were 
 the victims of " the misery " — which is the plan- 
 tation name of the spell that conjurers put on 
 people, and she declared over and over again 
 that she would n't tell — " crossing her heart " 
 to show that she meant what she said. 
 
 " Can we talk with the animals sure enough — 
 the horses, the cows, the sheep, the dogs, and the 
 hogs ? " asked Buster John. 
 
 Aaron smiled as he answered : " A little bit 
 now, more pretty soon. The sheep — I don't 
 know. Sheep don't talk much around me. But 
 the others are talking all the time. You must 
 watch all the motions they make, shutting the 
 eye, switching the tail, flopping the ear, stamping 
 the foot — all part of the talk." 
 
 " When shall we try ? " asked Buster John. 
 
 " Right after dinner," replied Aaron ; " we '11 
 go see old Timoleon." 
 
 " Timoleon ! " cried Sweetest Susan, in dis- 
 may. 
 
 Aaron laughed and nodded his head. " We '11 
 take him out the stable and see what he says. 
 Timoleon good talker." 
 
 " Oh, I 'm afraid to go ! " cried Sweetest Susan. 
 
16 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 <l Mamma told me never to go near Timoleon's 
 stable." 
 
 " I '11 tell you de plain trufe," said Drusilla 
 vehemently, " I would n't go up dar in dat fiel' 
 whar dat hoss is — I wouldn't go dar, not fer 
 money. Ain't I done see 'im jump on a nigger 
 man an' tar de cloze off'n 'im ? Uh-uh ! you 
 don't ketch me up dar ! " 
 
 " Little Missy will go with me," remarked 
 Aaron. Then he pointed to Drusilla. "You 
 go or stay, but, look out ! No talk ! " 
 
 " I '11 set on de fence an' see de hoss eat 'em 
 up," suggested Drusilla, by way of a compromise. 
 
 " She 11 go if I do," said Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " You mus' n't be agwine, den," was Drusilla's 
 comment. 
 
 Aaron looked at the girl so severely that she 
 shrank back. 
 
 "Don't mind Drusilla," said Sweetest Susan. 
 "She doesn't mean anything she says, except 
 when she asks for something to eat." 
 
 "After dinner we'll go see Timoleon. If he 
 seems like he's in good humor," Aaron ex- 
 plained, " we '11 bring him out. If he has been 
 fretting, we '11 let him stay." 
 
THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS. 17 
 
 This was perfectly satisfactory to the children, 
 especially to Buster John. 
 
 They went to play, but they only pretended to 
 play. All they could do was to discuss what 
 they had already seen and heard, and what they 
 hoped to see and hear. Time seemed to pass 
 very slowly. They sat down and talked, and 
 then walked about and talked, but still it was not 
 dinner time. They would have become very 
 impatient indeed had not Buster John chanced 
 to hear the big gray rooster call out to the 
 yellow hen : — 
 
 " Bun, run, run ! Here 's a bug ! " 
 
 The yellow hen went running, but just as she 
 reached the gray rooster he turned and walked 
 away with great dignity, saying : " Come on, 
 let 's go ; come on." 
 
 " I might have known it," complained the 
 yellow hen ; " you are like all the rest of the 
 roosters. A respectable hen can't depend on 
 anything you say." 
 
 " Come on, come on," said the big gray 
 rooster, strutting along, " I was just trying to 
 get you away from that one-eyed dominicker. 
 He 's not fit company for you to associate with." 
 
18 THE STOR Y OF AAR ON. 
 
 " Hoity-toity ! " cried the yellow hen. " And 
 didn't I see you this morning scratching your 
 toes off for the Friesland pullet ? " 
 
 Buster John and Sweetest Susan laughed 
 heartily at this, hut Drusilla was very serious. 
 
 " I dunno which de wuss," she cried, " chickens 
 er folks." 
 
 After that, time no longer hung heavy on the 
 children's hands. When the dinner bell rang, 
 Buster John and Sweetest Susan were on hand 
 promptly, with their faces washed and their hair 
 combed. They were so anxious to get through 
 their dinner that they ate rapidly, and this 
 attracted the attention of their mother, who 
 wanted to know what they had been doing to 
 make them so hungry. The only satisfaction 
 she got was a request to " Please, ma'm, make 
 haste and have some dinner fixed for Drusilla." 
 
 This was very soon done, and in a little while 
 the children were ready to go with Aaron to see 
 Timoleon. 
 
n. 
 
 A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION. 
 
 Aaron was not ready as soon as the children 
 were, but they waited for him with lamblike 
 patience, considering their eagerness. Finally 
 Aaron came out of his cabin and waved his hand 
 as a signal that he was ready. The children ran 
 to him, and together they went to the barn, 
 where Timolepn had his stable. This barn had 
 once been the corn crib. It was built of stout 
 logs, hewn square and mortised together, and 
 was in the middle of a five-acre field that had 
 once been in cultivation, but was now overrun 
 with Bermuda grass. Here Timoleon reigned in 
 solitude, except when Aaron was with him. In 
 this stable he remained securely imprisoned, save 
 when Aaron took him out for exercise. 
 
 Timoleon was a horse renowned throughout 
 the country — renowned for his victories on the 
 race track and for his vicious temper. Even in 
 his old age he was fleet and fierce, more danger- 
 
20 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 ous, people said, than a tiger, and stronger than 
 a lion. Fierce and strong, he was also beautiful. 
 His coat glistened in the sun like satin. His 
 mane was flowing and heavy, his tail long and 
 full. His neck and shoulders were thick and 
 powerful ; his head tapering to the muzzle, his 
 ears small and in constant motion, as when the 
 night wind stirs the leaves of the willow ; his 
 nostrils red and flexible, and all his motions 
 quick and graceful. 
 
 As Aaron and the children approached the 
 stable, they heard Timoleon pounding against the 
 heavy logs with his feet. 
 
 " I 'm gwine back ! " cried Drusilla. " He 
 tryin' ter git out now." 
 
 But she kept along with the rest. 
 
 " What is the matter with him ? " asked 
 Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " He 's fretting," replied Aaron — " fretting 
 or playing." 
 
 He went to the stable door and unlocked it, 
 saying " What now ? " 
 
 " Son of Ben Ah, what have I done ? " cried 
 Timoleon. " To-day I go hungry because the 
 corn is on the cob, to-morrow I '11 be foundered 
 
A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION. 21 
 
 because the corn is shelled. Is it, then, nothing 
 to you that I am old and my teeth are bad? 
 What have I done ? As for the fodder, it is full 
 of dust. To put my nose in it is to cough all 
 night. In the desert, I have been told an old 
 horse has new rice and cracked barley." 
 
 Buster John looked at Sweetest Susan, and 
 Sweetest Susan looked at Buster John. They 
 were too much astonished to say anything. 
 
 "Even so, Grandson of Abdallah," said Aaron, 
 " what says the sun on the wall above your 
 trough? Does it stand at the dinner hour? 
 Why grumble, then, about corn on the cob that 
 I have saved for the grunter ? " 
 
 " What is the Grunting Pig to me, Son of Ben 
 Ali? Or the sun on the wall? The dinner 
 hour of those who are hungry comes best when 
 it comes quickest. I have hurt my teeth on your 
 nubbins. Take them away." 
 
 Saying this, Timoleon snorted contemptuously. 
 Then suddenly he gave a loud snort of surprise 
 and anger. His quick and restless eye had 
 caught sight of Sweetest Susan's dress through 
 a crack in the door. 
 
 "Son of Ben Ali," he said, "what is this? 
 You are not alone." 
 
22 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " No, Grandson of Abdallah, I have brought 
 three of my friends," replied Aaron. 
 
 "Who are they, Son of Ben Ah? " 
 
 " Two grandchildren of the White-haired 
 Master and their servant." 
 
 " Why have they come ? " 
 
 " As I have touched your knee, so they have 
 touched my thumb. Once, twice, thrice." 
 
 Timoleon turned from the door, walked to the 
 far end of his stable, and then returned. 
 
 " The grandchildren of the White-haired Master 
 are wise," he said. 
 
 " So it seems," replied Aaron. 
 
 "Then let me touch them with my nose, so 
 that hereafter I may know them." 
 
 Aaron opened the door and Timoleon strode 
 out. He had on neither halter nor bridle, and 
 the children shrank and cowered behind Aaron. 
 
 " Son of Ben Ali, what does this mean ? " 
 asked Timoleon. 
 
 "It means that they are children who have 
 heard that the Grandson of Abdallah is a savage 
 beast," replied Aaron. 
 
 Timoleon with lowered head went to the 
 children and pressed his muzzle gently against 
 
A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION. 23 
 
 the shoulder of each — against Buster John first, 
 Sweetest Susan next, and Drusilla last. They 
 were all frightened, but Drusilla's terror was 
 such that her face, black as it was, took on an 
 ashen hue. To make matters worse, Timoleon 
 snorted suddenly and loudly when he pressed 
 his nose on her shoulder. She gave a piercing 
 scream, and fell on the ground in a heap. 
 Timoleon sprang back as though an attack had 
 been made on him. It was all so comical that 
 Aaron laughed, and Buster John and Sweetest 
 Susan relieved the strain on their feelings by 
 joining him boisterously — almost hysterically. 
 Drusilla, hearing this, rose to her feet with anger 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " I dunner what you-all white chillun laugh- 
 in' at. Ef you speck I 'm gwineter stan' flat- 
 footed an' let dat ar hoss bite de top er my 
 head off, you done gone an' fooled yo'se'f. I 
 know'd what he wuz gwine ter do, time I seed de 
 white er his eye. His breff hot nuff ter burn yo' 
 han'. What he want ter come doin' dat a way 
 fer? I don't want no hoss ter be huggin' me 
 wid his upper lip nohow. I '11 tell anybody dat." 
 
 While Drusilla was quarreling, Timoleon was 
 
24 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 grazing near by, and Aaron and the children 
 were still laughing. 
 
 "Ef you- all think it so funny, go dar whar 
 dat hoss is, an' let 'im nibble at you an' blow his 
 nose on you a time er two." 
 
 " What does she say, Son of Ben Ali ? " Timo- 
 leon asked, raising his head from the rank 
 Bermuda grass. 
 
 " She says she thought you were about to bite 
 off her head." 
 
 Timoleon gave a snort of contempt, and ad- 
 dressed himself again to the dainty feast before 
 him. 
 
 " Not too much of that, Grandson of Abdal- 
 lah," said Aaron. " You are too fat now. You 
 need exercise. How long since you have had a 
 gallop?" 
 
 " A month of Sundays, Son of Ben Ah." 
 
 " To-day you shall have one. On your head I 
 will place a halter, on your broad back I will 
 strap your blanket. On the blanket I will place 
 my friends and yours, the grandchildren of the 
 White-haired Master. But listen ! a stumble, and 
 I 'm done with you ; any trickery, and the Son of 
 Ben Ali will come near you no more." 
 
A ride' on the black stallion. 25 
 
 " So may it be, Son of Ben Ali." 
 
 " I believe you, Grandson of Abdallah. You 
 are to go by yonder gate through the lane to the 
 great road. From there it is a mile and a half 
 to the gate that opens on the avenue, leading to 
 the house of the White-haired Master. At that 
 gate I shall await you. Then up the avenue to 
 the house you are to go, and three times around 
 the boxwood circle where the avenue ends." 
 
 " So it shall be, Son of Ben Ali. Have you 
 not carried a noggin of water on my back and 
 set me at a gallop without spilling a drop ? So 
 it shall be now, Son of Ben Ali." 
 
 Aaron went into the stable and came forth 
 with a halter. This he threw on Timoleon's 
 head, passing the loose end over the horse's neck 
 and tying it in the ring, thus forming reins for 
 the rider to handle. Then he folded a heavy 
 blanket four times, placed it on the horse's back, 
 and strapped it down with a surcingle. 
 
 " Not too tight — not too tight, Son of Ben 
 Ali," said Timoleon, backing his ears a little. 
 
 " Now, then, for a ride," said Aaron, turning 
 to the children. 
 
 " Oh, I 'm afraid ! " cried Sweetest Susan. 
 " Mamma would be angry." 
 
26 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " Try him here, in the lot," suggested Aaron 
 to Buster John. 
 
 Now Buster John was a pretty good rider for 
 a youngster, and was somewhat proud of the 
 fact. He had even helped to break a young 
 mule to the saddle. So, after a little persuasion, 
 he allowed Aaron to lift him to Timoleon's back. 
 
 " Easy, now," said Aaron. 
 
 The black stallion stepped proudly off. From 
 a swinging walk he broke into an easy canter, 
 which soon became a swinging gallop. Before 
 he had gone around the field, Buster John had 
 lost all fear, and from his gently undulating seat 
 waved his hand gayly to Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " Oh, I wish I could go, too ! " she exclaimed, 
 clapping her hands. 
 
 "Why not, little Missy?" said Aaron. "I 
 have seen you riding the Gray Pony without a 
 saddle." 
 
 "But he is as gentle as a dog," explained 
 Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " Why, so is Timoleon," replied Aaron. " Try 
 him. I will run beside him to catch you, if you 
 fall. I '11 not run far before you will say, ' Go 
 back!'" 
 
A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION 
 
A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION. 27 
 
 By this time Timoleon came sweeping up to 
 where they stood, and stopped. Buster John's 
 face fairly glowed with the delight he felt. 
 
 " Well," said Sweetest Susan, unable to resist 
 the temptation. " Well, I '11 go, but if I fall " — 
 
 Before she could finish what she had to say, 
 the strong arms of Aaron had lifted her to a seat 
 behind Buster John. 
 
 " How can you fall ? " asked that bold 
 youngster. " Hold fast to me. Put your arms 
 around me, and when you fall, let me know." 
 
 " You did n't talk that way just now," said 
 Sweetest Susan. To this Buster John made no 
 reply. Aaron stood beside the black stallion 
 and stroked his neck. 
 
 " Grandson of Abdallah, show me what you 
 are this day. Once around the field, and then to 
 the lane gate." 
 
 The horse took three long strides forward, and 
 then broke into a canter as before. Aaron ran 
 beside Timoleon a little way, one hand on 
 Sweetest Susan's elbow to give her confidence, 
 but he soon saw that she had lost all fear, and 
 so, still running, he went to the gate that opened 
 in the lane and threw it back, and stood there. 
 
28 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 The black stallion, going in a steady gallop, 
 swept around the field, and then came toward 
 the gate. The children were laughing. 
 
 " Don't forget, Grandson of Abdallah ! You 
 know my hand ! " This was Aaron's last warn- 
 ing, as Timoleon went through the gate. The 
 Son of Ben Ali watched horse and riders for a 
 few moments. Then he closed the gate and ran 
 swiftly through the lot, going toward the head 
 of the avenue that led to the big house. The 
 lane, half a mile in length, led obliquely away 
 from the house and from the avenue until it 
 joined the public road. From that point, turning 
 squarely to the left, the distance to the avenue 
 gate was about a mile. Prom the stable to the 
 avenue gate, through the spring lot — the way 
 Aaron went — was not quite half a mile. 
 
 " If I go too fast, grandson of the White-haired 
 Master," said Timoleon, as they turned into the 
 public road, " touch me on the shoulder. And 
 don't be frightened when I lift my head and tell 
 the fools I am coming." 
 
 As they came in sight of the negro quarters, 
 Timoleon raised his head high in the air and 
 neighed shrilly three times in quick succession. 
 
A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION. 29 
 
 It sounded like a challenge to man and beast. 
 That plantation had heard it many times before, 
 and it had usually been the forerunner of some 
 display of savagery on the part of the black 
 stallion — sometimes a negro run down and 
 trampled, sometimes a mule or a cow crippled; 
 but always something. The sound of it was 
 heard with dismay, except by Aaron. 
 
 It was no wonder, therefore, that the negroes 
 came out of their cabins with alarm painted on 
 their faces. It was no wonder they stood trans- 
 fixed when they saw the horse flying along the 
 road, his thick mane whipping the wind, with the 
 two children on his back. They had no time to 
 admire the strength and symmetry of the horse, 
 and yet he presented a beautiful sight — his 
 glossy neck arched, his long mane enveloping 
 the children as in a cloud, the undulations of his 
 magnificent form and his swift movements the 
 perfection of grace. 
 
 Once more, as he thundered across the bridge 
 that spanned the stream leading from the spring, 
 the black stallion screamed forth his note of 
 defiance. A man, coming along the road, went 
 over the fence as nimbly as a squirrel. Cows 
 
30 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 grazing in the fields, near the roadside, hoisted 
 their tails in the air and ran off to the woods. 
 The mules in the horse lot ran around aimlessly, 
 and then huddled themselves together in a corner. 
 The Gray Pony went scampering through the 
 peach orchard, hunting a place of safety. 
 
 Then the cry went up from the negro quarters, 
 " Timoleon 's loose ! Timoleon 's loose ! " The cry 
 was echoed at the big house. The children's 
 father laid down the book he was reading, and 
 went out upon the veranda, followed quickly by 
 his wife. The grandfather rose from his easy 
 chair and joined them. They heard the tre- 
 mendous clatter of hoofs on the hard road and 
 the screaming stallion. They saw Aaron run- 
 ning up the avenue, followed by Drusilla. Ca- 
 lamity seemed to have swooped down upon the 
 plantation. A negro woman, bolder than the 
 rest, had managed to run to the big house. She 
 rushed through it^ without regard for ceremony. 
 
 " Mistiss, dem blessed chillun " — 
 
 She wanted to say were riding the runaway 
 stallion, but she sank to the floor, speechless. 
 
 " Oh, my children ! my children ! Where are 
 my precious children ? " cried the mother. 
 
A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION. 31 
 
 At that moment Aaron reached the avenue 
 gate, opened it wide, and the black stallion 
 cantered through it, and came galloping down 
 the drive. 
 
 " I see the children," said the white-haired 
 grandfather. " They are safe. They have been 
 giving Tiinoleon his exercise. See ! they are 
 laughing and waving their hands ! " 
 
 The mother looked, but the sight seemed to 
 terrify her so that she covered her face with her 
 hands. Only for a moment, however. She 
 looked again, thinking they were wringing their 
 hands and crying for help. But, no ! they were 
 really laughing. In front of the yard gate there 
 was an ornamental circle, filled with neatly 
 trimmed box-wood, privet and acacia bushes. 
 Coming to this circle Timoleon turned to the 
 right and galloped around it, the children waving 
 their hands to their mother, father and grand- 
 father. With his waving mane and flowing tail, 
 his arched and shining neck, and his graceful 
 movements, the horse presented a spectacle long 
 to be remembered. 
 
 " Why, they are riding him with a halter ! " 
 cried the father, taking fresh alarm. 
 
32 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " How many times have I told you he is the 
 gentlest horse I ever knew ? " sighed the grand- 
 father. " Ah, what a magnificent creature he is ! 
 What a pity he is penned on this plantation ! " 
 
 Three times around the circle Timoleon gal- 
 loped, and then wheeled toward the gate that led 
 to the stable lot. The children waved a mock 
 farewell to the still astonished spectators, who, 
 standing on the veranda, heard Timoleon go 
 clattering to the rear of the house. 
 
 The mother recovering from her fright, which 
 was serious, became very angry, and this was not 
 serious at all. 
 
 " That is Aaron's work," she cried, " and the 
 children shall never go about him any more." 
 
 " Aaron will thank you, if you '11 stick to your 
 word," said the grandfather. " I bought Aaron 
 fifteen years ago, and I have never had occasion 
 to undo anything he has ever done. I owe him 
 a debt of gratitude that I could never repay if I 
 were to live a thousand years." 
 
 "I know, father — I know," replied the 
 children's mother, more gently. "But he gave 
 me a terrible fright just now." 
 
 Timoleon galloped to his stable, and stood 
 
A RIDE ON THE BLACK STALLION. 33 
 
 there waiting for Aaron. Sweetest Susan, hold- 
 ing to Buster John's hand, slid to the ground, 
 and then Buster John followed suit. 
 
 "You might take the halter off, little one," 
 said Timoleon, and he held his head so that the 
 youngster could unbuckle the strap. Then the 
 horse began to graze as contentedly as any farm 
 animal. Presently Aaron came with a bucket of 
 cool water from the spring. Timoleon buried 
 his nose in it, drank his fill, and then washed his 
 mouth by sucking up the water and letting it 
 run out over his tongue and teeth. Then the 
 blanket was removed and the Grandson of Abdal- 
 lah stretched himself on the warm grass and had 
 a good wallow. After that Aaron rubbed him 
 off thoroughly, gave him a bait of oats, and, 
 while he ate, went over his silky coat with a 
 currycomb and brush, whistling all the while in 
 a peculiar way. 
 
III. 
 
 GKISTLE, 
 
 The ride on Timoleon, which was an exciting 
 one from start to finish, was enough fun for the 
 children for one day. They sought no other 
 amusement. When they had seen Aaron feed 
 and groom the horse, they went to the big house, 
 where they knew the ride had created a sensa- 
 tion. There, in answer to numberless questions 
 asked by their mother, they told a part of the 
 story of their ride. They said nothing about 
 hearing Timoleon talk, for they knew that not 
 even their grandfather would believe that part of 
 the story. But they told all about the ride, how 
 swiftly and easily the horse went, and how gentle 
 he was. Buster John was, of course, quite a 
 hero, and Sweetest Susan shared all the honors 
 with him. 
 
 The children's mother had more than half a 
 notion to read them a lecture ; but the white- 
 haired grandfather protested against this. He 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 35 
 
 said the youngsters were perfectly safe in Aaron's 
 care. He declared he didn't want to see boys 
 play the part of girls, nor girls act like dolls. 
 Then he began to talk about Little Crotchet, 
 who had been so fond of Aaron. It was curious 
 to the children to hear the white-haired grand- 
 father talk of their uncle (whom they had never 
 seen) as though he were a little boy. 
 
 " It seems but yesterday," said the old gentle- 
 man, with a gentle sigh that ended in a smile, 
 "that Little Crotchet was hobbling through the 
 house on his crutches, or scampering about the 
 neighborhood on the Gray Pony. But the Gray 
 Pony is grazing out there in the orchard, and 
 Little Crotchet has been dead these fifteen years. 
 If he were alive now, he would be twenty-nine 
 years old." 
 
 The old gentleman fell to musing, and sat 
 silent for a little while. Then he went on, as if 
 talking to himself : — 
 
 " And I am seventy-three, and Aaron is forty, 
 and, let me see, the pony is eighteen, and Timo- 
 leon seventeen. All getting old." 
 
 " Uncle Crotchet was n't always crippled, was 
 he, grandfather ? " asked Sweetest Susan. 
 
36 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " Oh, no," replied the old gentleman. " Until 
 he was seven years old he was as healthy a 
 child as I ever saw. Then he was suddenly 
 taken ill, and lay in his bed for months. After 
 that he was never able to walk without crutches. 
 Twenty-nine years old! Why, he'd be a man 
 grown. As it is, he is still a little boy. I 
 remember," the grandfather continued, becoming 
 reminiscent, " when he wanted me to buy Aaron. 
 From the very first the two had a fancy for each 
 other. Aaron came from Virginia in a specula- 
 tor's caravan. He became so unmanageable that 
 he had to be sold. Little Crotchet begged me to 
 buy him, but I stood joking with the little fellow, 
 and before I knew it our neighbor across the 
 creek had bought him." 
 
 " Old Mr. Gossett ? " inquired Buster John. 
 
 " Yes," replied the grandfather. " Mr. Gos- 
 sett bought Aaron. Little Crotchet was so dis- 
 tressed about it that I offered Mr. Gossett half 
 as much more for Aaron than he had given. 
 But he refused it. Then I offered him twice as 
 much, and he refused that, and I did n't feel able 
 to give any more." 
 
 "Why wouldn't Mr. Gossett sell Aaron?" 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 37 
 
 asked Buster John. " I 've heard he 's very 
 fond of money." 
 
 "He's a queer man," responded the grand- 
 father, " hard in some things and clever enough 
 in others. He had heard the speculator say that 
 Aaron was a very dangerous character, and so 
 Mr. Gossett declared that he was going to tame 
 him. Gossett was a much younger man then 
 than he is now, and about as reckless as any one 
 in the county. I remember he said something 
 in a light way that made Little Crotchet angry, 
 and the lad spurred the Gray Pony at him and 
 would have rode him down but for me." 
 
 " Was he riding the Gray Pony, grandfather ? " 
 asked Buster John. 
 
 " Yes," replied the old gentleman with a sigh : 
 " yes, the Gray Pony. It was fifteen years ago, 
 but it seems but yesterday." 
 
 The grandfather was silent after that, and the 
 children said no more. They went to bed when 
 bedtime came, but not before Buster John had 
 made up his mind to rise bright and early the 
 next morning and call on the Gray Pony. He 
 told Sweetest Susan and Drusilla of his plan, and 
 they said they were anxious to go, too. So it 
 
38 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 was arranged that the housemaid should wake 
 them when she came in from the quarters. 
 
 This was done, and to the surprise of every- 
 body whose business it was to be up early, the 
 children sallied forth a little after sunrise. They 
 went into the orchard, hunting for the Gray Pony. 
 Before they had gone far, a rabbit jumped up 
 right at their feet, ran off a little distance, and 
 then sat up and looked at them. 
 
 "He's very much like Mr. Rabbit," said 
 Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " He 's lots better lookin'," remarked Drusilla, 
 who had never forgiven Mr. Rabbit for mistaking 
 her for the Tar Baby. 
 
 While they were standing there looking at the 
 rabbit, Sweetest Susan lifted her hands suddenly 
 and uttered an exclamation that startled Buster 
 John and Drusilla, and sent the rabbit scurrying 
 off through the sedge. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked Buster John. 
 
 " Oh, to-day is Sunday ! " cried Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " Why, of course it is Sunday," said Buster 
 John. " What of it ? Is it any harm to walk 
 through an old peach orchard hunting for a 
 pony?" 
 
A RABBIT JUMPED UP AT THEIR FEET 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 39 
 
 " No-o-o," replied Sweetest Susan, hesitatingly. 
 
 "What is the matter, then ? " 
 
 " Nothing. I had forgotten it was Sunday, 
 and just happened to think about it," Sweetest 
 Susan replied demurely. 
 
 Going forward and looking about the orchard, 
 the children soon saw the Gray Pony grazing in 
 a fence corner at the further side. As they went 
 toward him, the Gray Pony saw them and began 
 to move away, backing his ears and showing 
 signs of irritation. 
 
 " Leave me alone," said the Pony. " I don't 
 want to run through these briars and scratch 
 myself. Go away. I don't want to see you." 
 
 " Wait," cried Buster John ; " I want to talk 
 to you." 
 
 " Shucks and smutty nubbins ! " exclaimed 
 the Pony. " You can hardly talk to yourselves. 
 I don't want you about me. All you can do is 
 to throw rocks and poke sticks at me through 
 the fence. Go away. I might accidentally hurt 
 you. I would n't be sorry if I did, but they 'd 
 send me off to the river place, and I don't want 
 to go there and get curkle burrs in my mane and 
 tail." 
 
40 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 "But I can talk to you," persisted Buster 
 John. " I can understand everything you say." 
 
 The Gray Pony tossed his head contemp- 
 tuously. " Go off — go off. Yonder comes 
 Aaron. The Son of Ben Ali will make you let 
 me alone." 
 
 Sure enough, Aaron was coming along the 
 orchard path with a bucket of bran. Presently 
 he called the Gray Pony. " Come, Gristle, come." 
 
 The Pony kicked up his heels, shook his head, 
 and went galloping toward Aaron as hard as he 
 could go. When the children came up to where 
 the Pony was eating his bran, they found him 
 disputing with Aaron. If the children did n't 
 know how to talk to him day before yesterday, 
 how could they talk now? That's what he'd 
 like to know. 
 
 " Gristle, listen ! If you did n't have this 
 bran-mash an hour ago, how can you be sticking 
 your nose in it now ? That 's what I 'd like to 
 know." 
 
 The Pony snorted so hard that he blew the 
 wet bran all around. "How did they learn to 
 talk to us ? " he asked. 
 
 " They have been touched," replied Aaron. 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 41 
 
 " Well," said the Gray Pony, " that changes 
 things. That alters the case. I 'm sorry I 
 abused them. But that boy there hasn't been 
 very good to me. I 've seen no boy like Little 
 Crotchet. I saw them riding the black stallion 
 yesterday. How was that ? " 
 
 "Haven't I told you, Gristle? They have 
 been touched. They have the sign." 
 
 " I see," responded the Gray Pony. " That 
 changes things. That alters the case. But 
 what do they want with me ? " 
 
 "They can answer for themselves, Gristle. 
 They are here." 
 
 " Why, we wanted you to tell us about the 
 time when my Uncle Crotchet asked grandfather 
 to buy Uncle Aaron." 
 
 The Pony drew away from the bucket of wet 
 bran and looked at the children. Then he looked 
 at Aaron. " Well ! " he snorted, " how did they 
 know?" 
 
 Aaron laughed and pointed toward the big 
 house. " They heard it there, from the White- 
 haired Master. They are our friends, Gristle. 
 They know the sign." 
 
 " That alters the case," said the Gray Pony for 
 
42 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 the third time, " but the story is a long one. 
 To-day is the day when you get in the carriage 
 and go where the talking-man lives. I used to 
 carry the Little Master there, one day in every 
 week, from the time he could ride." 
 
 " He means to preaching," explained Aaron, 
 and the explanation made the children laugh. 
 
 " Come to-morrow," said the Gray Pony ; "then 
 everybody will be at work, and we shall have no 
 one to bother us." 
 
 Aaron thought that this was a good idea, and 
 at his suggestion, the children agreed to it, 
 though not with a very good grace. To-morrow 
 seemed to be so far off. 
 
 But time rolled away on the plantation as it 
 did elsewhere, and some time during the night, 
 when the children were fast asleep, and snoring, 
 maybe, to-morrow became to-day. After break- 
 fast, when they had gone over their lessons with 
 their grandfather, who taught them, to amuse 
 himself, they went out and found the Gray Pony, 
 carrying him some green corn. 
 
 " Now, I like that," said the Pony switching 
 his tail vigorously. " I 've had a bad taste in 
 my mouth all day, and this green corn will drive 
 

 
 VA-aI' 
 
 f 
 
 7^J h 
 
 
 THEY CARRIED HIM SOME GREEN CORN 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 43 
 
 it away." He munched at it a little while, look- 
 ing at the children occasionally, and then began : 
 
 "I was very fond of the Little Master from 
 the first. The White-haired Master found me in 
 a drove of mules and horses in a pen in town. 
 We had traveled hundreds of miles, and though 
 I was young and tough, I was very stiff and 
 tired. But the drover cracked his whip, sepa- 
 rated me from the rest, and ran me into a 
 corner of the pen, where I stood trembling, 
 because I didn't know what moment the lash 
 would crack on my back, as it had cracked many 
 times before. The White-haired Master — his 
 hair was as gray as mine even then — held the 
 Little Master in his arms, and when they came 
 near I stood still and allowed the little fellow 
 to pat my back and stroke my neck. The Little 
 Master cried : ' Father buy him ! I like him ! ' 
 
 " That was enough. A negro came and put a 
 halter on me, and led me from the pen. Soon 
 some one brought a bridle, and then a small 
 saddle. After awhile the Little Master was 
 placed on my back, and some one handed him 
 two heavy sticks. I was alarmed at first, fear- 
 ing I was to be beaten with them, but when I 
 
44 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 flinched the Little Master stroked my neck, and I 
 had no more fear. The sticks he carried along 
 to help him over the ground when he was not 
 riding, and he used them nimbly. 
 
 " So we came home, and grew to know each 
 other. In cold weather I had a warm stable to 
 rest in, and a heavy blanket to sleep under. In 
 pleasant weather I had cool water twice a day, 
 and young corn and green barley. People used 
 to say he rode me too hard at times, but it was 
 not so. It was a pleasure to him and no harm 
 to me. 
 
 " One day there came to him from far away a 
 teacher — a young man with brown hair and 
 blue eyes — and for a time the Little Master was 
 troubled. He had no desire to sit in the house 
 for hours and do nothing but read in the books. 
 I used to watch for him through the fence, and 
 he was very proud indeed when he found that I 
 knew his voice from the rest and would follow 
 him about without bridle or halter. I missed 
 him when the teacher came, and I used to go to 
 the fence and call him. 
 
 " But I missed him only a day or two. The 
 teacher was a wise young man, and he soon saw 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 45 
 
 that if the Little Master was to be taught at all, 
 the teaching must go on in the open air, with no 
 more books to bother with than he could carry 
 in one hand. So it came to pass that every day 
 the little master would call for me, and then we 
 would go on long journeys through the woods 
 and fields, the teacher walking with me. 
 
 " Sometimes the teacher would carry books in 
 his hand, but he carried more in his head. He 
 was wise. He knew the poisonous plants and 
 vines almost as well as I did, and I used to won- 
 der how he found them out, not having to eat 
 them. This went on whenever the weather was 
 pleasant, and I heard the teacher from far away 
 say to the little master that he was learning a 
 great deal more of the things that were in the 
 books, than if he were shut up in a tight room 
 with the books themselves. If I could have re- 
 membered all I heard, I'd be pretty well edu- 
 cated myself. 
 
 " One morning I was fed early. I heard the 
 negroes say that the White-haired Master, the 
 Little Master, and the teacher were going to town. 
 It was court week, they said. The judge and 
 jury were going to sit and punish men for being 
 
46 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 meaner than the animals. I thought it was very 
 funny. But I ate my breakfast with a better 
 appetite, because I knew none of my kith and kin 
 were to be hauled up before the judge and jury 
 for cheating and swindling, and drinking and 
 gambling. 
 
 " So we went to town, the Little Master and I. 
 The White-haired Master and the teacher rode in 
 the buggy. We kept with them a little way, but 
 the weather was fine and the roads were good, 
 and after a while the Little Master gave me the 
 rein, which I had been asking for ever so long, 
 and I cantered forward, leaving the buggy far 
 behind and out of sight. 
 
 " I cantered on in this way, up hill and down 
 hill — for it was as easy as walking — until we 
 came nearly to the town. Then suddenly the Lit- 
 tle Master reached forward and touched me on 
 the shoulder. It was the way he had of warning 
 me. We were coming to a point where another 
 road led into ours, and it was well the Little Mas- 
 ter warned me when he did. Else, when I saw 
 what I did, I should have given a start that would 
 have unseated him ; for right before me, com- 
 ing slowly our road, was a train of huge wagons, 
 

 mi mme ' 
 
 
 
 HMftR life 
 
 ^SHlfe 
 
 JH 
 
 pill 
 
 4C^j^ 
 
 
 
 -S& 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE SLAVE TRAIN 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 47 
 
 covered with white cloth. There were five wagons, 
 each pulled by two mules. In front of the fore- 
 most wagon a file of negroes was marching, two 
 by two. There must have been forty odd in all. 
 At first I thought they were pulling the wagon, 
 for there was a stout rope reaching from the end 
 of the wagon tongue to the foremost negro of the 
 file, and the end was fastened to his waist. On 
 each side of this rope the other negroes walked, 
 and I soon saw that every one was handcuffed to 
 the rope. 
 
 " The sight of all this," said the gray pony, 
 continuing his story, "surprised me so that I 
 stopped in the road, and came near tucking 
 tail and running back the way I came. But 
 the Little Master was never afraid of anything. 
 He stroked my shoulder and scolded me, too, 
 and urged me forward. Now there was nothing 
 about this wagon train to frighten me. I had 
 seen wagon trains before. But this one loomed 
 up so suddenly and unexpectedly that it made 
 me have a queer, shivery feeling, as when I 
 hear a horse-fly zooning around and don't know 
 where he is going to light. It happened that 
 the wagons were on a sandy level, and neither 
 
48 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 their wheels nor the mules' feet made any 
 noise. The negroes were marching along as 
 silently as the shadows that run on the ground 
 when the moon is shining and the clouds are 
 flying. It was the first time I had ever seen 
 negroes going along the road together in utter 
 silence. They were neither talking nor laughing, 
 and they seemed to be very far from singing. 
 
 " Going nearer, I saw that the negro drivers 
 were chained to the wagons. On each side of 
 the file of marching negroes rode a white man, 
 a shotgun lying across his lap. I thought the 
 negroes were prisoners, and that the men were 
 carrying them to court for the judge and jury 
 to sit on them. So the Little Master thought, 
 for he urged me forward until we came up with 
 the man who rode near the tall negro at the 
 head of the file. 
 
 " ' Good-morning,' said the Little Master to 
 the man. 
 
 " ' Good-day, sonny,' replied the man, but he 
 kept, his eye on the negro at the head of the file. 
 
 " ' Whose negroes are these ? ' the Little Mas- 
 ter asked. 
 
 " ' Mine,' said the man, smacking his lips 
 over it ; ' every one mine.' 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 49 
 
 " Then we went on in silence. The Little 
 Master had a way, when he was puzzled, of 
 reaching over the saddle and twisting a wisp of 
 mane between his fingers. He did this now. 
 He curled the wisp of hair on his forefinger and 
 uncurled it ever so many times, as we went on 
 in silence. I noticed that the negro at the head 
 of the file had his arms tied at the elbows. The 
 whole weight of the long rope, which was a big 
 one, fell on this negro, but he was tall and strong 
 and moved forward without sign of distress. 
 
 " Presently the Little Master spoke to the 
 man again. ' What have your negroes done 
 that they should be carried to jail ? ' 
 
 " The man laughed loudly, as he replied : ' I 'm 
 not carrying them to jail. They are for sale.' 
 
 " ' Then you are a negro speculator,' said the 
 Little Master. 
 
 " ' That 's what some people call me, sonny ; 
 speculator or what not, I have negroes for sale. 
 If you want to buy one, I '11 sell you that buck 
 at the head of the gang. He 's the finest of 
 the lot, but I '11 sell him cheap. He 's worse 
 than a tiger.' 
 
 " The Little Master urged me forward until 
 
50 TEE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 we came to the side of the man at the head of 
 the file. That was my first sight of the Son 
 of Ben Ali. I knew at once that he was no 
 negro. The Little Master spoke to him, and 
 he smiled as he answered. 
 
 " ' I '11 sell him cheap, sonny/ said the man ; 
 ' name your own price, give me the money, and 
 take him.' 
 
 "The Little Master slapped the pommel of 
 his saddle, and I knew by that he was angry. 
 But what he intended to say was never said, 
 for just then the White-haired Master and the 
 teacher came by in the buggy, going at a 
 sweeping trot, and the Little Master gave me 
 the rein to follow, which I was more than glad 
 to do. Never before had I seen the White- 
 haired Master use the whip on old Sorrel, the 
 buggy horse, but he used it that day, and I had 
 hard work to catch up and keep up. The 
 teacher had turned in his seat and watched the 
 file of negroes and the covered wagons as far 
 as he could see them. There was a frown on 
 his face, and his eyes had a queer light in them. 
 I always dodge when a man looks at me that 
 way. 
 
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 51 
 
 " I think the White-haired Master wanted to 
 get the teacher away from that procession of 
 negroes. I heard them talking as I cantered 
 behind the buggy. 
 
 " ' You are from the North, and, of course, 
 you don't understand these things,' said the 
 White-haired Master. 
 
 " ' You are right,' replied the teacher. ' I 
 don't understand them at all. I'm truly sorry 
 I saw that sight. I shall see it again in my 
 dreams.' 
 
 " ' I have been living here fifty years,' the 
 White-haired Master remarked, ' and that is the 
 second time I ever saw it.' 
 
 " The teacher said nothing more, and we soon 
 entered the town, where there was a great many 
 people. Hitched to one of the racks I saw a roan 
 mule that had given me a vicious bite when we 
 were in the drove together. He was poor enough 
 now, and his ears hung dejectedly. I wanted to 
 stop and read him a moral, but the Little Master 
 bade me go on, and I had no opportunity to 
 speak to my old tormentor." 
 
IV. 
 
 GRISTLE, THE GRAY PONY, CONCLUDES HIS 
 STORY. 
 
 The Little Master gave me a drink of cool 
 water from the well in the public square, and 
 then he had me carried to a comfortable stall 
 in the stable behind the old tavern. I don't 
 know how long I stayed there, but by the time I 
 had dropped off into a comfortable doze, dream- 
 ing that I was nibbling sassafras buds in the 
 orchard at home, a negro came running into the 
 stable and into my stall. He came upon me so 
 sudden that I turned in the stall to get out of 
 his way, and nearly mashed the breath out of 
 him. He limped along and led me to the 
 front of the tavern. There I saw the Little 
 Master waiting to mount, and I went toward him 
 gladly enough. 
 
 " I thought we were to go home, but my 
 thoughts jumped ahead of facts. I soon saw 
 that the speculator's wagons and his file of 
 
GRISTLE CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 53 
 
 .negroes had come into town, and had stopped 
 to rest on the public square, where a great crowd 
 had gathered around them — some out of curi- 
 osity and some out of sympathy. I heard an old 
 horse, blind in one eye, say to a companion tied 
 near that such sights were seldom seen in these 
 parts. The Little Master had sent for me, so that, 
 by sitting on my back, he would be as tall as any 
 of the men. 
 
 " He rode me into the crowd that had gathered 
 around the negroes. The people made way for 
 him, and I soon found myself so close to the Son 
 of Ben AH that he could touch my nose with his 
 hand, although his elbows were pinioned. So 
 that he was able to give me the sign, and I knew 
 him and spoke to him and he to me ; whereupon 
 be knew that he had found one friend there. 
 He had found two friends, for the Little Master 
 stretched forth his hands, white as a flower, and 
 touched the Son of Ben Ah on the cheek, where 
 there was the mark of a wound, saying, ' Poor fel- 
 low ! I am sorry for you.' And the Son of Ben 
 Ali reached up the best he could, his arms being 
 pinioned, and took the white hand of the Little 
 Master in his, and pressed it to his forehead and 
 
54 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 then to his lips. After that he held his head 
 higher, so that he looked over all that stood 
 around him and beyond him, and smiled a little. 
 
 " But just then the man who owned him came 
 hustling toward us, untied the rope to which the 
 Son of Ben Ali was chained and pushed him 
 roughly through the crowd to the sheriff's block 
 that stood near the court house door. This he 
 made the Son of Ben AH mount, so that all might 
 see him. As he stood there, without a coat, the 
 collar of his shirt thrown open, and the muscles of 
 his chest swelling and falling, he seemed to be a 
 man among men. When the white man stood 
 on the block beside him, the crown of his hat 
 was no higher than the Son of Ben Ali's shoul- 
 der. 
 
 " The man made a speech to the people. I 
 don't remember everything he said, but I could 
 see he hated the Son of Ben Ali, and was afraid 
 of him. He was ready to jump from the block 
 and run. But the Son of Ben AH paid no at- 
 tention to him. He had his eyes fixed on the 
 face of the Little Master, f oUowing every move- 
 ment he made, and always smiHng. The Little 
 Master kept his eyes on the White-haired Master, 
 
GRISTLE CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 55 
 
 and called and beckoned to him. But somehow 
 — I couldn't see what the trouble was — the 
 White-haired Master appeared to be very busy. 
 He was talking with a man who was a stranger to 
 me, and, although he heard the Little Master, 
 and nodded and smiled at him, he kept on 
 talking. I went toward him without any 
 urging, and when we got there he was talking 
 about constitutions and other government con- 
 traptions, and seemed to be very warm over it. 
 I was so disgusted that I snorted as often and 
 as loud as I could, and if people had only known 
 it, there was more horse sense in one of my snorts 
 than there was in all the politics I have heard 
 from that day to this. 
 
 " But all this time the speculator, or trader, 
 or whatever you call him, was calling to the 
 crowd to come and see the fine bargain he was 
 going to offer. I had one ear for the trader 
 and another for the Little Master. One said : — 
 
 " ' Come up, gentlemen, and see what a sacri- 
 fice I am going to make. Come up, and I'll 
 tell you why.' 
 
 " The other said : ' Come, father, please come ! 
 You '11 be too late ! ' The White-haired Master 
 
56 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 nodded and smiled. ' Presently, son ; pres- 
 ently.' 
 
 " The trader said : ' Walk right up, gentle- 
 men, and I '11 tell you the truth. I 'm selling 
 this boy because he's too tricky to travel with. 
 He 's bad tempered and hard headed. What 
 he needs is a master who will take time to 
 make him buckle down to work.' 
 
 " The Little Master said : < Father, come. Oh, 
 don't wait any longer.' The White-haired Mas- 
 ter smiled. ' Yes, yes ! ' and placed his hand on 
 my neck, whereupon I snorted and shook it off. 
 
 " The trader cried out at the top of his voice : 
 * Come up, gentlemen ! Come up ! Look at 
 this boy's limbs. Look at his muscles. Not a 
 flaw about him, except his temper. What am 
 I offered, cash down, for this likely fellow ? ' 
 
 " The Little Master said : ' Please, please hurry, 
 father ! You '11 be too late. The man is selling 
 him now ! ' The air was blue with state rights 
 and constitutions. I shook my head and gave a 
 loud whicker. This seemed to irritate the White- 
 haired Master, for he ceased to smile and joke. 
 
 " ' Go buy him yourself,' he said, sharply. 
 
 " < How much shall I bid, father ? ' 
 
GRISTLE CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 57 
 
 " ' Up to twelve hundred dollars.' 
 
 " Before the Little Master could take the bridle 
 reins in his hand, I wheeled and cantered toward 
 the crowd that had gathered around the sheriff's 
 block, where the Son of Ben Ali stood. 
 
 " The trader was saying : ' How much am I 
 offered? How much? Look at him, gentle- 
 men ! As sound as a dollar ! ' 
 
 " The man who lives across the creek — Mr. 
 Goshawk — no — Mr. Gossett — got on the block 
 with the Son of Ben Ali and put on his specta- 
 cles and looked at him, and felt of him, and 
 thumped him on the back, and punched him in 
 the sides. The Son of Ben Ah never flinched 
 nor moved a muscle. He kept his eyes fixed on 
 the Little Master. But, after all, what could the 
 Little Master do ? He was but a child. 
 
 " Mr. Gossett came down from the block, took 
 off his spectacles, and said something to the 
 trader, who then cried out : — 
 
 "'What do you think, good people? I am 
 asked to give this boy away ! My friend here 
 offers me five hundred dollars for the finest hand 
 that ever stood on the block in this country. 
 Five hundred dollars ! I am offered five hundred 
 dollars ! ' 
 
58 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " ' Seven hundred dollars ! ' cried the Little 
 Master. 
 
 " The trader stopped and looked at the Little 
 Master, as if he thought the bid was a joke. 
 
 " ' Who said seven hundred ? ' he asked. 
 
 " < I did,' cried the Little Master. 
 
 " ' Seven hundred it is,' said the trader. ' I 
 am offered seven hundred — only seven hun- 
 dred ! ' 
 
 "Mr. Gossett said something to the trader, 
 who cried out : ' Eight hundred ! I am offered 
 eight hundred ! ' 
 
 " ' Nine hundred ! ' said the Little Master. 
 
 " ' That is right ! ' cried the trader. ' In this 
 country even the children have saddle-bags full 
 of money. Nine hundred! I am offered nine 
 hundred ! ' 
 
 " Mr. Gossett nodded his head. I was watch- 
 ing him. 
 
 " ' One thousand ! ' cried the trader. ' I am 
 offered one thousand ! Am I to give this man 
 away for one thousand dollars ? ' 
 
 " * Twelve hundred/ said the Little Master in 
 a voice as clear as a bell. 
 
 " This seemed to stagger the trader. He 
 
GRISTLE CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 59 
 
 looked at the Little Master, and then he looked 
 at the crowd. He shook his head, and then 
 some of the people laughed. This made others 
 laugh, and then the trader, very red in the face, 
 turned to Mr. Gossett and said : — 
 
 " ' I don't like to he made a fool of. This 
 negro is yours, sir, for one thousand dollars.' 
 
 " This made the people laugh again, hut the 
 Little Master did n't laugh. He cried to the 
 crowd around. ' Get out of the way here ! ' and 
 gave me the word to push my way through. I 
 needed neither whip nor spur for that, and the 
 people in front of me had as much as they could 
 do to scuffle and scramble out of my way. 
 
 " ' Here, sir, what does this mean ? ' cried the 
 Little Master. ' I hid twelve hundred dollars, 
 and you sell him for one thousand dollars. What 
 do you mean ? ' 
 
 " ' Don't bother me, sonny,' the man replied. 
 ' The negro is mine. I sell him for what I 
 please. This gentleman here,' he pointed to 
 Mr. Gossett, ' said you were playing one of your 
 pranks. I 've no time for pranks. If you are 
 not pranking, plank down your twelve hundred 
 dollars on that block there.' 
 
60 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 "Mr. Gossett had taken from his pocket a 
 long red book, and was already counting out 
 the money he had bid. Then and there a thing 
 happened that has never been understood by 
 anybody but me. Everybody will tell you that 
 the Little Master tried to ride over and run 
 down Mr. Gossett, but it is not so. The Little 
 Master had no more to do with it than the old 
 buggy horse who was tied to the rack near by. 
 I felt the Little Master's hand shake as it rested 
 on my shoulder, and I heard him sob. I was 
 so mad that everything grew dark except Mr. 
 Gossett's face. I plunged at him and tried to 
 get his head in my mouth, but he saw me coming 
 and fell backward and rolled out of the way be- 
 fore I could reach him, nor could I trample him. 
 His luck saved him. 
 
 " And then somebody caught my bridle and 
 gave it a jerk that brought me to my senses. 
 Whoever it was led me out of the crowd and 
 away from the court house. I could feel the 
 Little Master shaking in the saddle, and I knew 
 he was crying, but I held my head down, not 
 knowing what to do or where to go. 
 
 " Presently the White-haired Master, hearing 
 
GRISTLE CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 61 
 
 of the commotion, came running toward us. His 
 face was as white as a sheet. 
 
 " ' Why, my son ! my darling boy ! What is 
 the trouble ? ' He placed his arms around the 
 Little Master. ' Oh, tell your father ! Has any 
 one dared to hurt so much as your little ringer ? 
 There, don't cry any more.' 
 
 "Then the Little Master told him what you 
 have already heard, his voice shaking and his 
 white hands trembling. 
 
 " ' Wait ! ' said the White-haired Master. 
 
 "With that he suddenly turned and went 
 toward the crowd at the court house. I fol- 
 lowed, though the Little Master never touched a 
 rein. The people seemed to expect something, 
 and they made way for the White-haired Master, 
 and for me, with my nose at his coat-tails. 
 
 " ' Has the sale been closed ? ' he asked sharply. 
 His words snapped out like the popping of a whip. 
 
 " ' Yes, sir ; yes, sir — it has been closed,' the 
 trader replied. He was as humble and polite as 
 one of his poor negroes. 
 
 " ' Gossett ! ' said the White-haired Master — 
 his voice sounded as I have heard it when he was 
 talking to a lazy plough hand — ' Gossett ! I will 
 
62 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 give you fifteen hundred dollars for your bar- 
 gain.' 
 
 " Mr. Gossett shook his head and smiled, show- 
 ing two or three yellow teeth. I was so anxious 
 to get at him that the Little Master was compelled 
 to slap me with the slack of the bridle reins and 
 bid me stand still. 
 
 " ' No,' said Mr. Gossett, ' I 'd ruther have the 
 nigger than the money.' 
 
 " ' I '11 give you two thousand dollars,' persisted 
 the White-haired Master. 
 
 "Mr. Gossett showed his yellow teeth again. 
 ' Well, sir,' he said, 'if he 's worth that to you, 
 he 's worth it to me. The fact is, I want to tame 
 the nigger. They say he 's as wild as a buck, and 
 as hard-headed as a mule. I want to tame him.' 
 
 " The White-haired Master turned to the 
 trader. 'Why did you insult my son and me 
 by refusing to cry his last bid ? ' He caught the 
 man by the throat and shook him. The people 
 gave back and scattered a little at this, for in 
 those times men were quick to use their knives 
 and pistols. But the trader had no idea of using 
 his, though he had both in his belt. 
 
 " ' Let me explain, sir ; let me explain,' he cried, 
 
GRISTLE CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 63 
 
 as the White-haired Master released his hold. 
 'That gentleman there said the youngster was 
 only playing me one of his jokes.' 
 
 " ' What gentleman ? ' the White-haired Master 
 asked, as quick as a flash. He wheeled and looked 
 around, as if searching for some one. The people 
 were still afraid a fight was about to take place, 
 and they stood off some distance, but not so 
 far that they could n't hear every word that was 
 said. 
 
 " ' What gentleman ? ' the White-haired Master 
 repeated, facing the trader. 
 
 " The trader went to Mr. Gossett and touched 
 his shoulder so as to make no mistake. ' This is 
 the gentleman, sir,' he said. 
 
 " At this the White-haired Master fairly roared 
 with laughter. ' Pay him another hundred, Gos- 
 sett — pay him another hundred ! He has earned 
 it. You'll not find another man in the county 
 to pay you such a compliment.' 
 
 "There must have been some joke or hit in 
 this, for the people laughed even louder than the 
 White-haired Master, and Mr. Gossett turned very 
 red in the face. But if it was a joke it passed 
 over my head. I saw no fun in it, and neither 
 
64 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 did the Son of Ben Ali, who had drawn near and 
 was fondling the thin white hand of the Little 
 Master in his." 
 
 Here the Gray Pony paused and held his head 
 up as if he heard a noise somewhere. Then he 
 cropped off a bunch of peach leaves and chewed 
 on them, to all appearances relishing their flavor. 
 This done, he scratched his neck by rubbing it 
 against the peach-tree, which was old and rough. 
 The children sat absorbed in the story he was 
 telling. 
 
 "Now, right here," the Gray Pony went on, 
 "two or three things happened so close together 
 that the quickest eye could hardly separate them. 
 If I told them as they happened I should have to 
 tell them all at once, but this can't be done, not 
 even in your tongue. So I'll have to blunder 
 along the best I know how. In cantering or gal- 
 loping I always start off on my right forefoot. A 
 man taught me that with a whip, and I 've never 
 been able to forget it. That foot comes down 
 heaviest, and I always fling the right foreshoe 
 first. It was loose when we started from home 
 that morning, and when I jumped at Mr. Gossett 
 I wrenched it nearly off. For a time I didn't 
 
GRISTLE CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 65 
 
 mind it, but every time I stamped my foot to 
 drive the flies away it rang and rattled like a cow 
 bell. The Son of Ben AH, hearing it rattle as he 
 stood by the Little Master, stooped and placed his 
 hand on my knee. I gave him my foot, and he 
 drew the shoe off by giving it a slight twist with 
 his fingers. 
 
 "When the White-haired Master told Mr. Gos- 
 sett to pay the trader another hundred dollars he 
 made a step toward the man to see what he would 
 do. At that moment Mr. Gossett's son George, a 
 great rowdy and bully, came rushing through the 
 crowd. He was red in the face and fairly foam- 
 ing at the mouth. He came crying, ' Is pap in a 
 fuss ? Where are you, pap ? ' He had a pistol 
 in his hand, and when he saw the White-haired 
 Master standing so near his pap, as he called him, 
 he bellowed like a mad bull, and came rushing 
 up, leveling the pistol as he got near. 
 
 "This happened just as the Son of Ben Ali 
 wrenched the shoe from my foot. Still stooping 
 he turned his head and saw George Gossett halt 
 and point his pistol at the White-haired Master. 
 I felt the body of the Son of Ben Ah sway under 
 my neck in the most unaccountable manner, and 
 
66 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 the next moment I saw young Gossett fall as if 
 he had been struck by lightning. The Son of 
 Ben Ali crept under my belly, and when I saw 
 him again he was sitting on the block where he 
 had stood to be sold, his arms folded, and his 
 eyes closed as if he were fast asleep. 
 
 " No one knew what had happened except the 
 Son of Ben AH and myself. All eyes had been 
 fixed on George Gossett and the White-haired 
 Master. Some said Gossett had fallen in a fit of 
 passion and that the blood had burst from his 
 face. Some said that he had fallen on a horse- 
 shoe that happened to be lying near. Some said 
 one thing and some another. George Gossett 
 always declared, so I've heard, that somebody 
 jabbed him in the face with a forked stick, but 
 his best friends said he was drunk at the time and 
 fell on the horseshoe and hurt himself. But there 
 were some people who whispered it around that 
 they saw the blood gush from his face as he fell 
 forward. 
 
 "The matter was never explained, and for 
 many a long day no one but the Son of Ben Ali 
 and I knew that Gossett had been hit in the face 
 by one of my shoes. I think the White-haired 
 
GRISTLE CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 67 
 
 Master learned the truth by asking the Son of 
 Ben Ali about it one night, -when they were re- 
 turning from a long ride together. 
 
 " In the midst of the excitement, old Mr. Gos- 
 sett forgot all about the Son of Ben Ali. But 
 after the wounded man had been carried to a doc- 
 tor's shop and physicked, and the doctors had said 
 that he would recover, though the bruise was a 
 serious one, Mr. Gossett remembered his purchase, 
 and came out to the public square in some alarm, 
 fearing that his newly-bought slave had given 
 him the slip. But he had not far to seek. 
 Though the public square was deserted, except 
 for the horses and mules tied to the racks and a 
 few people straggling aimlessly about, the Son of 
 Ben Ali still sat on the sheriff's block, erect and 
 silent, bis arms folded and his feet crossed. The 
 trader's wagons and his train of slaves had passed 
 on through the town. 
 
 " When Mr. Gossett saw the Son of Ben Ali 
 sitting where he had left him, he nodded his head 
 approvingly. His son had come to town in a 
 wagon, and in this the young man had to be car- 
 ried home. Straw was spread in the body of the 
 wagon, and into this George Gossett was lifted. 
 
68 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 The old man had come in a buggy and he made 
 the Son of Ben AH sit beside him and drive him." 
 
 At this point the Gray Pony paused and bit 
 at a speckled fly that was sitting on his fat side 
 out of reach of the sweep of his tail. 
 
 "Is that all?" asked Buster John. 
 
 " It is enough," replied the Gray Pony. " A 
 few days afterward, being on the far side of the 
 plantation, I heard a plough mule telling Mr. 
 Gossett's buggy horse that the Son of Ben Ali 
 had gone to the woods." 
 
 The Gray Pony, saying this, turned and walked 
 away. 
 
RAMBLER, THE TRACK DOG, BEGINS HIS STORY. 
 
 The children thought that they had been 
 treated somewhat impolitely by the Gray Pony, 
 and so, as soon as they could find an opportunity, 
 and when they thought he was in a good humor, 
 they asked him why he walked away so abruptly 
 and refused to tell them the reason Aaron went 
 to the woods and what befell him when he got 
 there. 
 
 " As for that," the Gray Pony answered, " I 
 know nothing of the matter of my own know- 
 ledge. It is all hearsay with me. The Son of Ben 
 Ah can tell you. He knows. He was there." 
 
 The children had to be content with this until 
 they found an opportunity to talk with Aaron. 
 He was very busy during the day, and sometimes 
 at night, managing the affairs of the plantation, 
 but he told them that whenever they saw a light 
 in his cabin right after supper, he would have 
 time to talk to them. This happened the next 
 
70 • THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 night. Drusilla saw the light, and told Sweetest 
 Susan and Buster John it was there, and in a few 
 minutes they were all in Aaron's cabin. 
 
 They found him baking a hoecake and frying 
 some bacon, and it smelt so good that Buster 
 John's mouth began to water, although he had 
 just eaten his supper. 
 
 "Uncle Aaron," he said, "I'll give you two 
 biscuits and a piece of ham for a piece of your 
 hoecake and some of your meat." 
 
 " Do so — do so," answered Aaron. 
 
 " Bring four biscuits and two pieces of ham," 
 cried Sweetest Susan, as Buster John rushed out 
 of the door. He returned in a little while with 
 four biscuits, each sandwiched with a piece of 
 ham. Whereupon Aaron turned over to the chil- 
 dren all his hoecake and fried bacon, which they 
 devoured with a relish which belongs to youth 
 alone. This done, they gave Aaron to under- 
 stand what they came for, and he, without any 
 apology, explanation, or delay, such as a negro 
 would have indulged in, and likewise without any 
 ' humor, told his story. Perhaps there was no room 
 for humor, but a negro would have found a place 
 for it. 
 
RAMBLER BEGINS HIS STORY. 71 
 
 " I can't tell you the story as the field hands 
 could," said Aaron. " They have a word for 
 everything. What I knOw is that when I saw the 
 little white boy crying about me, I was no longer 
 the same man. Something swelled here " — 
 touching his throat — " and something broke 
 here " — striking his breast. " I had said to my- 
 self, be as cunning as a snake. My mind was 
 made up to run away from the man that bought 
 me, and follow the negro trader and strangle him 
 in the night. He was a beast. I promised my- 
 self that he should live no more. The thoughts 
 made me happy, and then I saw the white child, 
 small and crippled, crying because his father had 
 not bought me. I said, what is he to me ? And 
 then my hands shook and my knees trembled. 
 Another man crept into my skin and looked out 
 of my eyes. Not since my mother shook hands 
 with me and told me good-by when I was a boy had 
 I seen anybody crying for me. Then, I said, the 
 man who gets me to-day will get a good bargain. 
 
 " In my mind there was but one thought — . 
 the child is my Little Master. The Gray Pony 
 has told you what happened. It was to save the 
 Little Master's father that I threw the horseshoe. 
 
72 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 I thought the young man was killed, and I said, 
 it is a pity ! When I rode home with Mr. 
 Gossett, I kept on saying it is a pity — a great 
 pity ; and when my new master asked me if I 
 would treat him right, I smiled and told him 
 I would do the best I could. And I did. I 
 worked for him as hard as I ever worked for a 
 man. But he never trusted me. He was always 
 watching me. 
 
 " One night, just after sundown, he called me 
 out of my hut — it was not a cabin — and said 
 he wanted me to get in the one-horse wagon and 
 take a bale of cotton to a neighbor's house and 
 sell it to him. At once I smelled trouble. 
 
 " ' But will the man buy it ? ' I asked. 
 
 " The answer was : ' He may ; if he does, the 
 money is yours. H not, no harm is done.' 
 
 " ' 1 am afraid of the patterrollers,' said I. 
 
 K The answer was : ' I '11 not be far away.' 
 
 " I had nothing else to do but go, but I knew 
 there was trouble at the end of the road. I had 
 seen negroes lashed for selling their masters' 
 things, and I had seen white men sent to jail for 
 trading with negroes between two suns. I found 
 out long afterward that Mr. Gossett's neighbor 
 
RAMBLER BEGINS HIS STORY. 73 
 
 had some land that he refused to sell. He was 
 not very well off, but he held to his land and 
 made poor crops. If he bought the cotton from 
 me, Mr. Gossett could buy his land or put him 
 in jail. But this was all dark to me then. 
 
 " I mounted the wagon — But wait ! Rambler, 
 the track dog, is here. He knows what hap- 
 pened. I will call him." 
 
 Aaron went to the door of his cabin, put his 
 right hand to his mouth, and gave a musical 
 halloo. The dogs were barking in another part 
 of the lot, but they ceased instantly, as if listen- 
 ing. Then Watch, the catch dog, barked three 
 times : — 
 
 "Who is it?" 
 
 Again Aaron gave the halloo, and this time it 
 was answered by the quavering cry of a hound. 
 Before the children learned the language of the 
 animals, they would have said a dog was howling 
 somewhere on the plantation, but now they knew 
 that Eambler was saying : — 
 
 " I am c-o-m-i-n-g ! " 
 
 In a few minutes he came running into the 
 cabin, his hair damp with the dew. He looked 
 rather sheepish, as the saying is, and crouched 
 
74 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 near Aaron, as if he expected to be scolded. 
 Once upon a time Kambler had been a black- 
 and-tan, but he was now old, and the gray hairs 
 had well-nigh obliterated the tan, and were 
 encroaching on the black. His muzzle was very 
 gray, and his dew-claws had grown until they 
 were nearly an inch and a half long. One of his 
 long ears was split a little at the end, the result 
 of a skirmish with old Mr. Kaccoon. He kept 
 his eyes averted from Aaron and the children 
 and seemed to be both humble and uneasy. He 
 was better satisfied when Aaron told him what 
 was wanted. Indeed, he became very lively and 
 went about the room picking up the scraps of 
 bread the children had dropped on the floor. 
 Aaron went to his little pine cupboard and got 
 out a pone of corn bread that he had saved from 
 the day before. Kambler took the bread in his 
 mouth and then placed it gently on the floor. 
 Gently wagging his tail, he looked up in Aaron's 
 face. 
 
 " Son of Ben AH," he said, " I am getting old, 
 and, what with gnawing bones and killing cats 
 and fighting coons, my teeth are bad. This 
 bread is hard." 
 
RAMBLER BEGINS HIS STORY. 75 
 
 Whereupon Aaron took the bread, crushed it 
 in his hands, dropped it in an old tin platter, and 
 placed it on the hearth. 
 
 " This would taste better, if it had ham gravy 
 on it," remarked Eambler, after saying " Thanky " 
 with his tail ; " yes, a good deal better, but I '11 
 not be choice." 
 
 When he had finished the bread, he seated 
 himself near the chimney corner and licked his 
 chops carefully. 
 
 " You want to know about that trip the Son of 
 Ben Ali made to sell the cotton. But I don't 
 even know how to begin. My tongue and my 
 tail will be here talking and wagging, and my 
 mind will be off in the woods hunting minks and 
 coons and possums. You know how one thing 
 leads to another. Well, if I get started I '11 get 
 things upside down, as the rabbit does when he 
 tries to run down hill." 
 
 " When I started with the cotton," suggested 
 Aaron, " you made up your mind to go with 
 me." 
 
 " That 's so," said Rambler. " I don't know 
 why. I knew well enough you were n't going 
 hunting. It was just a notion, that seized me. I 
 
76 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 trotted along, sometimes in front of the wagon 
 and sometimes behind it. Before we had gone 
 very far I happened to be in front of the wagon 
 when a rabbit ran across the road. I dashed 
 after it and bumped my head against a fence rail. 
 It hurt so that I sat down by the roadside and 
 waited for the pain to- go away. The wagon 
 went by and I concluded to go back home and 
 go to bed in the shuckpen. I started back, but 
 before I had gone far, I heard the clinking of 
 bridle-reins and bits, and presently I saw two 
 men on horseback- 
 
 " I stopped until they passed by. And then I 
 saw that it was Old Grizzly and the overseer." 
 
 " Old Grizzly ! " cried Buster John. " Who 
 was he?" 
 
 " That was the name the negroes had for Mr. 
 Gossett," Aaron explained. 
 
 " Old Grizzly and the overseer," Rambler con- 
 tinued, paying no attention to the interruption. 
 " They were riding along after the wagon, but at 
 some distance behind it. I says to myself, well, 
 well ! something is up. So, instead of going 
 back home, I turned around and trotted along 
 the road till I passed Old Grizzly and the over- 
 
A RABBIT DASHED ACROSS THE ROAD 
 
RAMBLER BEGINS HIS STORY. 77 
 
 seer, and caught up with the wagon. I said to 
 the Son of Ben Ali : — 
 
 " '' Get down and fix one of your wagon 
 wheels, and see who comes behind you.' 
 
 "This he did, but when Old Grizzly and the 
 overseer heard the Son of Ben Ali knocking on 
 one of the wagon wheels with a rock, they 
 stopped, and came no farther until after he drove 
 on again. Then I knew, and the Son of Ben AH 
 knew, that Old Grizzly and the overseer were 
 coming to see that orders were obeyed. 
 
 " The house to which the Son of Ben Ali was 
 carrying the cotton was not far. It was in the 
 midst of a big grove of oak-trees. The trees 
 were too big for the house, or the house was not 
 fine enough for the trees, for they made every- 
 thing so dark that, from the road, those who 
 cannot see in the night would never know that a 
 house was there. 
 
 " The Son of Ben Ali drove the wagon under 
 the trees, waited until he could hear the clinking 
 of bridles and bits, as Old Grizzly and the over- 
 seer rode up, and then he slipped around the 
 house and went to the back door. I waited until 
 I saw Old Grizzly and the overseer stop under 
 one of the big oaks, and then I followed. 
 
78 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " The Son of Ben Ali knocked at the back 
 door, which was soon opened by a negro woman, 
 who asked him what he wanted. He told her, 
 and then the man came to the door. 
 
 " ' What do you want ? ' he asked. 
 
 "• ' I want to see you,' said the Son of Ben Ali. 
 ' I want to sell you a bale of cotton.' 
 
 " ' Who is your master ? ' the man asked. 
 
 " ' Mr. Gossett,' the Son of Ben Ali answered. 
 
 " ' What is your name ? ' 
 
 " ' They call me Aaron.' 
 
 " ' You are the boy he bought not long ago.' 
 
 " < Yes, sir.' 
 
 " ' Wait a moment.' The man went into 
 another room, and when he appeared again he 
 had a shotgun in his hands. My hide is not 
 very thick, and so I went under the steps. The 
 man seemed to be mad. The Son of Ben Ali 
 had some such idea, for he asked : — 
 
 " ' What are you going to do with the gun, 
 sir?' 
 
 " ' Get the truth out of you.' 
 
 " ' A dead man will neither lie nor tell the 
 truth,' said the Son of Ben Ali. His voice 
 sounded as if he might be laughing, but I was 
 under the steps and could n't see. 
 
RAMBLER BEGINS HIS STORY. 79 
 
 " ' Is the cotton yours ? ' the man asked. 
 
 " < It is Mr. Gossett's.' 
 
 " ' Why do you bring it here to-night? ' 
 
 " ' I had my orders.' 
 
 " ' Oh, if I had the old scoundrel here ! ' cried 
 the man in a rage. 
 
 " ' If you talk loud, he '11 hear you," said 
 Aaron. 
 
 " The man understood at once. ' Wait ! ' he 
 whispered. Then he slipped around the corner 
 of the house. Suddenly I heard the gun go off, 
 and it scared me so I could n't help but cry out. 
 Some one else yelled, too — some one under the 
 oaks in front, and then I heard the snorting and 
 stamping of horses. The Son of Ben Ali stole 
 off in the dark before the man returned, and I 
 followed him, not knowing what had happened 
 or what might happen. 
 
 " But I soon found out, and it was not as bad 
 as it might have been. The shot the man fired 
 had shattered one of the overseer's arms. He 
 was not hurt so badly but he could ride his 
 horse, and he and Old Grizzly hurried home as 
 fast as they could. 
 
 " After a while the Son of Ben Ali followed, 
 
80 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 but instead of riding in the wagon, lie walked by 
 the side of it, and I went abead to see that the 
 way was clear. The Son of Ben Ah knew that 
 there was trouble in store for him, and he did n't 
 want Old Grizzly to get hold of him." 
 
 " I don't see why," said Buster John. 
 
 " Why, Old Grizzly did n't know but the Son 
 of Ben Ah had gone to the man's house and 
 told him about the whole business. There was 
 nobody else to tell the man, and if he knew that 
 Old Grizzly and the overseer were waiting in the 
 grove, of course he must have got the news from 
 the Son of Ben Ah. But it happened that the 
 overseer was so badly scared about his wounded 
 arm that Old Grizzly had to go home and sit up 
 with him, and this left the way clear for the Son 
 of Ben Ah to take the mule and wagon and cot- 
 ton where they belonged. He drove the wagon 
 under the gin-shelter, unharnessed the mule and 
 fed it, and then went to his hut and gathered up 
 his belongings and took to the woods." 
 
 " Then he was a runaway," said Sweetest 
 Susan. She looked at Aaron with new interest. 
 She had often heard of runaways, but she had 
 never seen one. 
 
RAMBLER BEGINS HIS STORY. 81 
 
 " Yes, he was a runaway," Kambler answered, 
 " and it was a long time before he was anything 
 else. I did n't bother my head about the Son 
 of Ben Ah when he went to the woods, for I 
 knew he was just as much at home there as I 
 was. I stayed behind to see what would happen, 
 and by staying I soon found out that I had made 
 some trouble for myself. 
 
 " It was very curious, too, when you come to 
 think about it. Old Grizzly behaved with so 
 much meanness toward his negroes, half feeding 
 and clothing them, and working them long after 
 dark, that some of them were in the woods most 
 of the time. Now, Old Grizzly's son, George, 
 was very fond of fox-hunting, and some of his 
 friends sent me to him when I was quite young. 
 My whole family have a great name for running 
 foxes, so it is said, and Old Grizzly's George 
 wanted me to hunt foxes for him along with the 
 other dogs. I did n't need any teaching in that 
 business, for the minute I smelled a fox, no 
 matter at what hour of the day or night, I felt 
 bound to hunt him up and run him down. I 
 had that feeling as far back as I can remember. 
 
 " One day, when I was very young, I was 
 
82 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 playing at hunting with the little negroes just 
 to pass the time away. One would hold me, and 
 another would go far out of sight and hide. 
 I had to use my nose to find him, and I soon 
 came to enjoy the fun. Once Old Grizzly him- 
 self saw lis playing, and he seemed to be very 
 much pleased with the way I followed the trail 
 of the little negroes. He took part in it him- 
 self, holding me while one of the children ran 
 through the pasture and down the branch, and 
 around by the gin-screw back to the house. 
 He did this many times, and seemed to be very 
 much pleased with me. After a while, when I 
 grew older, he made some of the large negroes 
 run, but I never failed to find and bay them. I 
 soon found out why Old Grizzly was so well 
 pleased. One morning, one of the negroes was 
 missing. He had run away some time during 
 the night, having been promised a strapping for 
 the next morning. Old Grizzly called me, and 
 we went to the negro's hut, where I was made 
 to smell of his blanket and such of his belong- 
 ings as he had failed to take with him. I knew 
 at once what Old Grizzly wanted me to do, and 
 I was more than willing to do it, for the negro 
 
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 OLD GRIZZLY BROUGHT HIM BACK 
 
■RAMBLER BEGINS HIS STORY. 83 
 
 happened to be one that had given me more 
 kicks than scraps. I settled down to business 
 at once. I ran for the hut, and circled around it. 
 The scent was as plain to me as a track in the 
 mud is to you. I followed it with no trouble at 
 all, and Old Grizzly, having his horse ready, 
 went along with me, keeping as close to me as 
 he could. In an hour we had overtaken the 
 negro, and Old Grizzly carried him back, mak- 
 ing him walk before the horse all the way home. 
 
 "After that I had to look out for myself. 
 The negroes treated me worse than ever. They 
 were ready to kill me at any time, and I had to 
 keep out of their way. This made it worse for 
 the negroes. None of them could escape Old 
 Grizzly by going to the woods. I had help, too, 
 for some of the other hounds, seeing me made 
 much of by the master and the overseer, joined 
 me in my expeditions, and in a short while Old 
 Grizzly had a pack of ' nigger dogs,' as he called 
 us, that seemed to fill him with pride. 
 
 " This was going on when the Son of Ben Ali 
 came — when he came and touched me and gave 
 me the sign. And then I knew more than I 
 had known before. After he came he was the 
 
84 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 first to go into the woods, as I have told you, 
 and the next morning my trouble began. 
 
 " Old Grizzly was very mad when, at daylight, 
 he sent for the Son of Ben Ah and found him 
 gone. I slept under the house in a corner of 
 the chimney stack, and I heard Old Grizzly 
 when he came in from the overseer's house. 
 He bawled at the cook for not having breakfast 
 ready, though it was not time, and then he came 
 out, ripping and rearing, and sent the house-boy 
 for the Son of Ben Ah. But the Son of Ben 
 Ali was not to be found. This made matters 
 worse. Old Grizzly called up my companions 
 and myself, gave us a few bites of stale bread, 
 had his horse saddled, and then carried us to 
 the hut where the Son of Ben Ali had lived. 
 
 " I knew then what was going to happen. I 
 ought to have known before, but it had never 
 occurred to me. We were to run the Son of 
 Ben Ali down so that Old Grizzly could capture 
 him. This did n't suit me at all, but I had to 
 go. There was no way to get out of it." 
 
 " Oh, I don't see why ! " cried Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " Me, nuther," Drusilla chimed in. 
 
 " It is simple enough," said Rambler, placing 
 
RAMBLER BEGINS HIS STORY. 85 
 
 himself in a more comfortable position — he had 
 been sitting on his haunches. " The other dogs 
 would have gone whether I went or not. So 
 I pretended I was very glad to go. I circled 
 around the house, and ran over the scent twice 
 so as to see what the other dogs would do. 
 They ran over it, too, but I knew that one of 
 them had a faint hint of it. He went back to 
 it, and then " — 
 
 Here a spark from the pine knot that made 
 a light in the cabin flew out near Rambler's 
 head, and suddenly burst into a shower of 
 smaller sparks. Rambler dodged and jumped 
 out of the way so quickly that the children 
 laughed. 
 
 " You may think it is funny," said Rambler, 
 " and it may be, but I '11 not laugh until I see 
 you "with a hot spark in your ear." 
 
 He settled himself again and resumed his 
 story, but this time he kept one eye on the pine 
 knot. 
 
VI. 
 
 A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 
 
 " As I was saying," Rambler went on, " the 
 scent was as plain as the nose on your face, and, 
 although I passed it over, one of the other dogs 
 had a hint of it and whimpered over it. This 
 dog afterwards made a very good track dog. 
 He had what they call a cold nose, and he was 
 hard headed enough to hang on. But at that 
 time he was young and foolish, and new to the 
 business. He had no mind of his own. So I 
 went back to the trail, picked up the scent and 
 went along with it slowly, as if it were a tedious 
 job to unravel it. 
 
 " What I wanted to do was to follow it until 
 it crossed some other trail, and then pick up the 
 new one and carry Old Grizzly away from the 
 Son of Ben AH. But it was impossible. No 
 one had passed, and so we ran on after the Son 
 of Ben Ah. 
 
 " The next best thing to finding some other 
 

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 I WAS CLOSE TO THE RABBIT 
 
A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 87 
 
 track, I thought, was to get out of sight of Old 
 Grizzly. I let myself out a little, the other dogs 
 did the same, and in a few moments we had 
 left Old Grizzly hehind. Eight then I did 
 something I have never done before, and that 
 was to try to catch a rabbit, when I was hunt- 
 ing a different kind of game. While we were 
 going along, full tilt, a big fat rabbit jumped 
 up right under my nose. I dashed after it as 
 hard as I could go, and the other dogs came 
 tumbling after. I was so close to the rabbit 
 that it turned before going into the swamp. I 
 made it turn again, and it ran into the mouth 
 of one of my companions. The others ran up, 
 and they had quite a fight over the rabbit, 
 tearing it to pieces in short order. I was hun- 
 gry myself, and nothing would have pleased me 
 better than to rush in and take the rabbit away 
 from my companions. But I did n't have time. 
 
 " While the others were snapping and snarl- 
 ing I slipped into the swamp, ran across it and 
 made a circle of a mile or more, and tried to 
 pick up the scent again where I thought it 
 ought to be. But it was not there. I knew 
 then that the Son of Ben Ali had wandered 
 
88 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 about, not knowing or caring where he went so 
 long as he kept out of the way of Old Grizzly. 
 I made another circle, and this time I picked up 
 the scent again. I had said to myself when I 
 was hunting for it that I would remain silent 
 when I found it, but I came upon it so sud- 
 denly and unexpectedly, and it was so warm 
 and fresh, that I cried out at the top of my 
 voice. It was foolish, but such is habit. My 
 companions heard it, and they came to me with- 
 out delay. I knew they were coming, and the 
 best I could do was to discover quickly which 
 way the scent led, and then take the back track, 
 trusting to the dullness of my companions to 
 mislead them. By the time they came up I 
 was tripping along toward the cold end of the 
 trail as noisily as if the Son of Ben Ali were 
 in plain view. The others, not to be outdone, 
 joined in the cry, and we went bolting along 
 the back track. In this way we came up with 
 Old Grizzly, who seemed to be much astonished 
 to see us running headlong in the way he had 
 just come. 
 
 " The scent grew fainter and fainter, and 
 everything would have gone well but for one of 
 
A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 89 
 
 my companions, the one that discovered the scent 
 at the beginning of the hunt. When the scent 
 grew colder, he began to circle around for him- 
 self, and about a half a mile away he picked it 
 up with such a howl and a flourish that I ran up 
 to him. It was so warm that I looked up, expect- 
 ing to see the Son of Ben Ali trotting along a 
 quarter of a mile away. But it was not so. He 
 was not in sight. 
 
 "I joined in and took the lead, saying to 
 myself that when we got into the woods I 'd show 
 my spotted companion a new wrinkle in trailing. 
 When we came to the bushes I dropped back a 
 little, seized my companion by the neck and 
 dragged him around and shook him up in a way 
 that surprised him and the others. 
 
 " < What 's that for ? ' he cried. ' You 're too 
 spotted/ I replied. This quieted them down, 
 but it was too late to carry out my new plans. 
 The scent had been growing warmer and 
 warmer, and I took it up again as a matter of 
 duty, and the others followed in a more sober 
 manner. We went through the woods at a 
 pretty good pace, and I expected to see the Son 
 of Ben Ah limping along ahead of us, ready 
 
90 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 to drop, for we had now come several miles in 
 doubling and twisting and turning. 
 
 " But instead of seeing the Son of Ben Ali, we 
 saw something that was more surprising. We 
 came upon a young man and a young lady. The 
 young man had been hunting, for he had a gun, 
 and the young lady had been gathering wild 
 flowers, for a negro girl with her had a basket- 
 ful." 
 
 " I know ! I know ! " cried Drusilla. " Dat 
 nigger 'oman wuz my mammy. I been hear 'er 
 tell dat many an' many 's de time. Yes, suh ! dat 
 wuz my mammy ! An' dat ain't all. Dat ar 
 white man an' dat ar white 'oman wuz yo' all's 
 pa an' ma." 
 
 Buster John and Sweetest Susan looked at 
 Aaron for confirmation or denial. 
 
 " That 's so," Aaron said. 
 
 " Mammy say dey wuz courtin'," explained 
 Drusilla. 
 
 Buster John seemed to be somewhat embar- 
 rassed at this information, but Sweetest Susan 
 appeared to relish it. On the other hand, 
 Rambler went to Aaron and said : — 
 
 " Son of Ben Ali, it would please me much 
 
:<i-j0m mm 
 
 
 MAMMY SAY DEY WUZ COURTIN' 
 
A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 91 
 
 if you would scrape your shoe just behind my 
 shoulders. A colony of fleas has settled there, 
 because they know I can reach them neither with 
 my teeth nor with my hind feet." 
 
 Aaron performed this service willingly, and 
 the scraping seemed to tickle Rambler so that he 
 raised one of his hind feet from the ground, and 
 made believe to be scratching himself, but his 
 foot was simply moving up and down in the air. 
 At this the children laughed very heartily. 
 
 "Well," said Rambler, "when we ran up on 
 the young man and the young lady there was a 
 great flurry. The negro girl screamed, and the 
 young lady rushed into the arms of the young 
 man for protection. My companions and I ran 
 around and circled, but all trace of the Son of 
 Ben Ali had disappeared. 
 
 " I found the warm scent of a horse, but there 
 was no horse to be seen. I thought this very 
 strange, so I followed it a few hundred yards, 
 but said nothing to my companions about it. 
 The scent led out of the woods, through a field 
 in which the brown sedge grew high, and, in 
 going through this, I caught the scent of the Son 
 of Ben Ali. It was high on the sedge, and I 
 
92 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 knew by this that the horse had the Son of Ben 
 Ali for a rider. But I said nothing to my com- 
 panions. I turned away from the horse's trail, 
 and continued to go in a circle, until, coming to 
 the point where the young man had entered the 
 woods, I made some fuss over it, and thus drew 
 my companions away from the sedge field. They 
 came to me, but I told them it was a mistake, 
 and in this way cooled them off, so that they 
 were no longer as keen to find the trail of the 
 Son of Ben AH as they had been. 
 
 " I have told pretty much all I know about it," 
 continued Rambler, dodging another spark. " It 
 happened that the young man who was out there 
 in the woods with the young lady was the man 
 to whom Old Grizzly had sent the Son of Ben Ali 
 with the bale of cotton." 
 
 " Was it really papa and mamma ? " asked 
 Buster John, turning to Aaron. 
 
 Aaron laughed and nodded his head. 
 
 " Well, tbey 've never told me anything about 
 it," said Sweetest Susan, in an injured tone. 
 
 " Nor me either," remarked Buster John. 
 
 " Huh ! " exclaimed Drusilla, " folks don't 
 hafter tell dey chilluns all dey know." 
 
A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 93 
 
 ' Just then a loud, but mellow voice outside 
 cried out : " Drusilla ! You Drusilla ! You better 
 answer me gal ! I boun' I '11 make you talk when 
 I git holt er you ! " 
 
 Drusilla put her head outside the door and 
 yelled out: "Ma'am!" 
 
 " Come 'ere dis minnit, madam ! Whar is 
 you?" 
 
 " At Unk A'on's house, mammy ! ' 
 
 " Tell her, Uncle Aaron says he wants to see 
 her," said Buster John. This Drusilla did, and 
 presently Drusilla's mother was heard coming 
 along the path, breathing dire vengeance against 
 Drusilla, and wondering what in the world Aaron 
 wanted. 
 
 " Is that you, Jemimy ? " asked Aaron. 
 " Come in — don't be scared." 
 
 Jemimy came in laughing, and her smile was 
 in queer contrast to the threats she had just 
 made against her daughter. 
 
 " What you-all doin' here ? " she said, seeing 
 the white children. " Unk Aaron is sho got mo' 
 time fer ter fool wid you dan what I got. An' 
 dar 's dat ol' dog settin' up dar big ez anybody. 
 What you want, honey ? " turning to Buster 
 
94 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 John. " Talk quick. I ain't got no time ter 
 th'ow way. I got ter go up yonder," indicating 
 the big house, "and set my mornin's bread ter 
 rise." Then she turned to Aaron, " Did you call 
 me sho' nuff, er is deze yer chillun des runnin' on 
 wid der foolishness ? " 
 
 Aaron nodded his head and brought out a 
 stool for himself, giving Jemimy the chair in 
 which he had been sitting. 
 
 " I 'clar'. I ain't got no time fer ter be settin' 
 down here gwine on wid deze chillun. Time yo' 
 Unk A' on know much 'bout you ez what I does 
 he won't be settin' down here worryin' 'long wid 
 
 you." 
 
 Jemimy said this, laughing in an embarrassed 
 way. She stood in awe of Aaron, but she sat 
 down. " What you grinnin' at, I like ter 
 know?" she cried, turning suddenly on Drusilla, 
 to hide her own confusion. " Whar yo' man- 
 ners ? " 
 
 Aaron shook his head and Drusilla made no 
 reply. 
 
 "Aunt Mirny," said Buster John, "we want 
 you to tell us about the time you went into the 
 woods with mamma — when Uncle Aaron was a 
 
A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 95 
 
 runaway, and when Mr. Gossett was running him 
 with dogs." 
 
 Jemimy laughed, and then she looked serious. 
 She looked first at the children and then at 
 Aaron. At last, her eye fell on Rambler, who 
 had crossed the hearth and was sitting between 
 Aaron and the chimney-jamb. 
 
 "Ef I ain't mighty much mistaken," said 
 Jemimy, " dat ar very dog dar is one er de dogs 
 what wuz runnin' atter you." Aaron nodded his 
 head. " He gittin' ol', mon. Why, dat ar dog 
 ain't fur frum twenty year ol'." Jemimy paused, 
 but nobody said anything. Finally she went onT- 
 
 " I never is ter fergit dat day, ef I wuz ter live 
 ter be older dan ol' man Methusalem. I speck I 
 wuz 'bout fourteen year ol', an' Miss Rachel, she 
 wuz 'bout eighteen or nineteen — some'rs 'long 
 in dar. Soon one mornin' she sont me out ter 
 tell ol' Unk Aberham fer ter saddle de pacin' 
 filly. She low she gwineter go out in de woods 
 atter some wil' flowers, an' she says she want me 
 ter go 'long wid 'er. So dey done saddle de filly, 
 en put Miss Rachel on 'er, an' den Miss Rachel, 
 she rid up side de fence an' tuck me on behine 
 'er, bein 's ez de filly done been trained to tote 
 
96 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 double. I had er basket on my arm, an' dat ar 
 basket sholy did worry dat boss. She danced an' 
 she pranced, an' twuz e'en'bout all I could do 
 ter set up dar, her back wuz so suck. 
 
 " But bimeby de filly done git usen ter de 
 basket, an' atter dat I ax Miss Rachel whar she 
 gwine. She say she gwine atter some wil' 
 flowers. I ax her wharbouts. I 'low'd dey wuz 
 plenty right whar we wuz at. She up 'n say dey 
 want 'nufE ter suit her. We rid on an' rid on, 
 an' bimeby I say, ' Miss Rache, you know you 
 ain't gwine atter no flowers.' She ax me whar- 
 bouts she gwine den. I say, ' You er gwine over 
 yon'er in de big woods.' She ax what she gwine 
 over dar for. I say " — 
 
 Here Jemimy straightened herself up and 
 looked at Aaron curiously. 
 
 " I 'clar ter gracious, I ought n't ter be tellin' 
 dis 'fo' deze yer chillun," she said. 
 
 Aaron made no reply one way or another, but 
 seemed to be surprised, and the children protested 
 loudly. 
 
 " You '11 run right straight an' tell Miss 
 Rachel ! " exclaimed Jemimy, as indignantly as 
 if the children had already told their mother. 
 
A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 97 
 
 " Why, mamma knows it already — if it 's 
 true," said Buster John scornfully. 
 
 " She 'd run me ofFn de place ef she know'd I 
 wuz runnin' on 'bout ol' times right here 'fo' you 
 all. La ! niggers is fools, mo' speshually when 
 dey er wimmen folks." 
 
 " I reckon she 's about right," said Eambler, 
 yawning and stretching himself. 
 
 " What kinder cu'us fuss is dat dog makin' ? " 
 asked Jemimy, seeing Aaron and the children 
 laughing. " I ain't never see no dog make fuss 
 like dat. You all better watch dat dog. He so 
 ol', dey ain't no tellin' when he'll go ravin'." 
 
 " You told mamma she was going to the big 
 woods," said Buster John, by way of a reminder. 
 
 " She wa'n't yo' ma den ! " remarked Jemimy. 
 " I say, ' You ain't gwine atter no flowers. You 
 er gwine over yon'er in de big woods.' She ax 
 me what she gwine over dar f er. I say, ' You er 
 gwine dar kaze you speck you '11 strike up wid dat 
 ar Dave Henry Wyche.' Man, suh! She blush 
 up twel it look like you kin see plum thoo her 
 ears, dey got so red. Atter while she ax me who 
 tol' me dat, an' I say, 'How come my eyeballs 
 ain't big nuff f er me ter tell myse'f ? ' 
 
98 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " We rid 'long, an' rid 'long, an' den bimeby 
 she low dat Mr. Wyche des ez good ez anybody 
 else, ef he ain't got ez much prop'ty ez some er de 
 res'. I say, ' I ain't' sputin' dat, but how come 
 you call 'im Mr. Wyche now, when you been 
 callin' 'im Dave Henry yever since he toted yo' 
 school bucket when you wa'n't knee-high to a 
 goslin' ? ' Den she say it's kaze dey done got 
 older dan what dey useter wuz. 
 
 " We rid on, an' rid on, an' bimeby we come 
 ter whar de big poplar grows dar in de woods. 
 Right dar she w'o'd de filly, an' tol' me ter jump 
 down, kaze right dar whar she gwine ter git some 
 wil' flowers. I hilt de hoss, I did, an' she lipt 
 down same ez a bird off'n de bush, an' den she 
 tuck de basket an' went sa'nterin' 'roun'. 
 
 "I 'low, 'Ef you gwine ter git any flowers 
 right roun' here, you '11 hafter dig in de groun' 
 atter 'em,' an' she say I better be 'tendin' ter my 
 business, an' hoi' dat ar filly so she won't break 
 loose an' run away. Well, dat sorter brung me 
 'roun', kaze I skeerd er hosses anyhow, but I hilt 
 on ter de bridle reins, an' I kep' one eye on Miss 
 Rachel, an' de udder one on de filly. Miss 
 Rachel, she went on thoo' de woods, sorter hum- 
 
A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 99 
 
 min' one er dem ar ol' time chunes, an' I foller'd 
 'long atter de bes' way I could, kaze I skeer'd 
 dat ar filly gwine ter walk up behine me an' 
 tromple me. Bimeby, I see somebody gwine 
 long tboo de woods wid a gun. I look rigbt 
 good, an' den I know'd 'twuz Marse Dave Henry 
 Wyche. 
 
 " Well sub; ! you dunner bow quare folks is. 
 Miss Rachel she seed 'im "mos' time I did, an' 
 den sbe stopped and fetched a bttle squall, des 
 like she did n't know all de time he wuz gwine 
 ter be dar, an' den Marse Dave Henry, he stopped 
 like he wuz 'stonished, an' tuck off his hat like he 
 ain't seed Miss Rachel in a mont' er Sundays. 
 Den dey shuck han's an' stood dar an' talked an' 
 talked. I dunner what dey say, but one time 
 Marse Dave Henry would laugh, an' look down 
 at bis foots, an' den Miss Rachel, she 'd snicker 
 an' blush. Dey wuz gwine on dat way when I 
 feel de filly pullin' on de reins, an' den when I 
 look at 'er, she had her ears sot forrerd, like she 
 wuz lis'nin' at sump'n. Den I hear houn's 
 a-bayin', an' des 'bout dat time I hear de bushes . 
 shakin', an' somebody come chargin' 'long hard 
 ez he kin come. 
 
100 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " Dis make de filly jerk back and r'ar, but I 
 swung on ter de bridle rein, an' holler w'oa, an' 
 den, bimeby, she w'oad. Well, suh, dat ar some- 
 body chargin' 'long wuz yo' Unk A' on dar. De 
 dogs was a-gainin' on 'im eve'y jump. He seed 
 Miss Rachel an' Marse Dave Henry stan'in' dar, 
 an' he went up ter whar dey wuz, an', say : ' You 
 see what I git fer tellin' you las' night.' Marse 
 Dave Henry 'low, ' I wish ter God I could help 
 you ! ' Miss Rachel riz on her tiptoes, an' stretch 
 out her han' an' say, ' Take dat filly dar an' ride 
 her home fer me ! ' She looked lots bigger dan 
 what Marse Dave Henry did. I tell you now, 
 when you git de Abercrombie blood stirred up 
 you better go off som'rs twel it cool off. 
 
 "Well, Unk A'on dar, he fetched a jump er 
 two an' jerked de reins out'n my han', an' lipt on 
 de filly's back — behine de side-saddle, now, mind 
 you — an' hit her wid his heels a time er two, an' 
 wuz done gone 'fo' I could git up offin' de groun' 
 whar I fell at. Den Marse Dave Henry flung his 
 gun 'cross his lef arm an' put some fresh caps on 
 it, an' dar he hilt it. 
 
 " Bimeby, here come de dogs. Dey sailed 
 'roun', an' sailed 'roun', but dey could n't go no 
 
A RUN THROUGH THE WOODS. 101 
 
 fudder. Den here come dat ol' Mr. Gossett. I 
 hope he '11 go ter heaven, but I never shill b'lieve 
 it twel I see 'im dar. He come a-follerin' long 
 atter de dogs. He rid up an' tuck off his hat 
 when he see Miss Rachel. But na'er one un urn 
 do like dey know he 's a-livin'. Miss Rachel she 
 look at Marse Dave Henry, an' Marse Dave 
 Henry, he look right straight at ol' Mr. Gossett. 
 He sot dar on his hoss an' look at um, an' thump 
 de pummel er his saddle like he studyin' 'bout 
 sump'n 'way off yon'er — an' den he spied me. 
 He lif his hat agin, like he tellin' um good-by, 
 an' den he rid up by me. He say, ' Gal, is you 
 seed any nigger man runnin' 'long by here ? ' I 
 look at Miss Rachel, an' she drapt her eyeleds. 
 I say, ' Yasser.' He say, ' Which away wuz he 
 gwine?' I look at Miss Rachel, an' she thow 
 her eyes over ter de lef ', an' I pint dat way an' 
 'low, ' Cross yon'er.' He sot dar, dat ar white 
 man did, an' look at me n' thump de pummel er 
 his saddle, en den he broke out in a big laugh 
 an' rid on. I tell you now, ol' Nick wa'n't no 
 sharper dan dat ar white man. 
 
 "Marse Dave Henry made a motion like he 
 wuz gwine ter foller on atter ol' Mr. Gossett, but 
 
102 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 Miss Rachel, she laid her han' on his arm, an' den 
 we all walked back home. De las' word I say 
 ter Miss Eachel — an' she '11 tell you so herse'f — 
 wuz, ' I tol' you you wa'n't huntin' no flowers ; ' 
 an' she 'low, ' How kin anybody hunt flowers when 
 de woods is full er runaway niggers an' dogs ? ' 
 an' I say, ' You ain't call de name er all what de 
 woods wuz full uv ; ' an' she 'low ef I don't hush 
 up, she '11 be mad wid me all de balance er de 
 week, an' den I hushed up." 
 
 Jemimy paused, looked all around, and then 
 turned to the children : — 
 
 "Don't you dast ter tell yo' ma dat I been 
 gwine on wid all dish yer ol' time foolishness, 
 kaze ef you do, she '11 take me out'n de kitchen 
 an' sen' me ter de cotton patch, an' I 'm doin' 
 mighty well whar I is." 
 
 Then, after telling Drusilla not to be sitting up 
 all night, she went out. 
 
VII. 
 
 RAMBLER, THE TRACK DOG, CONCLUDES HIS 
 STORY. 
 
 " Where did you go when you rode the filly 
 off ? " Buster John asked Aaron. 
 
 " He came right here," said Eambler ; " I know 
 it, because when old Grizzly whistled to me and 
 my companions and started home, I went back, 
 picked up the scent of the filly, and followed it 
 here. At the lot, the Son of Ben Ali took the 
 saddle off, hung it under the shed, and then came 
 to this house." 
 
 " That is so," remarked Aaron ; " an old man 
 by the name of Abe lived here." 
 
 " Why, I remember old Uncle Abe," said 
 Buster John. "He used to sit in the sun and 
 make horse collars and baskets, and tell tales." 
 
 "He was a great hand for that," assented 
 Aaron. 
 
 "I followed him here," continued Eambler, 
 " but found the door shut. I scratched at it and 
 
104 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 whined. The man named Abe opened it, and I 
 came in, but I did n't see anything of the Son of 
 Ben AH. But I knew he was in here. My nose 
 told me so. I noticed some planks across the 
 rafters^ they are there yet, as you can see — 
 and I looked up and whined. The man named 
 Abe looked around until he found his axe. ' So 
 you are Gossett's nigger dog,' he said. ' Well, 
 you '11 never hunt any more niggers for him.' 
 
 "'What is that?' said the Son of Ben Ah 
 from the loft. 
 
 " ' Gossett's nigger dog,' said the man named 
 Abe. ' He has followed you here. What shall 
 I do with him ? ' 
 
 " ' Give him something to eat,' answered the 
 Son of Ben Ali, and this made me glad, for I had 
 had a long, a hot, and a hard chase. 
 
 " ' What shall I do then ? ' asked the man 
 named Abe. 
 
 " ' Give him a drink of clean water,' replied the 
 Son of Ben AH. 
 
 "'What then?' 
 
 " < Then let him alone.' 
 
 "Now, I was very glad of that," continued 
 Rambler, Hcking his chops, and keeping one eye 
 
I LOOKED UP AND WHINED 
 
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 105 
 
 on the sputtering pine knot that gave out a flick- 
 ering light, " for I wanted bread, and I wanted 
 water, and I wanted to lie down and rest some- 
 where, where I would n't have to fight the flies. 
 
 " So the man named Abe went into his cup- 
 board — that same cupboard there — and gave 
 me a big chunk of ash cake, and placed a pan of 
 water close by. Then he sat in the door and 
 began to weave his baskets. I ate all he gave 
 me, drank as much water as I wanted, and crept 
 under a low bedstead that stood in the corner 
 yonder. 
 
 " I don't know how long I slept, but when I 
 woke I knew it was night, for I heard the man 
 named Abe frying his bacon, and the smell of it 
 crept under the bed where I was, and made me 
 as hungry as I had been before I ate. After 
 a while I heard voices. The Son of Ben Ah was 
 asking the man named Abe if he would have to 
 stay in the loft on the planks all night. The 
 man named Abe said no, that he had a snug 
 place for the Son of Ben Ali. 
 
 " Now, at that time there was a sort of closet 
 or something near where the chimney juts out 
 here. The man named Abe had nailed some 
 
106 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 planks across from the wall to the edge of the 
 chimney, and in between the wall and the planks 
 there was room enough for a man to stand up, 
 or to lie down, if he lay on his side. 
 
 "After a while, when everything was quiet, 
 the Son of Ben Ali clambered down the wall, 
 but when he touched the floor he stumbled and 
 fell over, groaning. The man named Abe was 
 scared nearly to death, but it was nothing. I 
 had been running hard, and I was stiff and sore. 
 The Son of Ben AH had been running hard, and 
 he was stiff and sore. Besides, he had been ly- 
 ing on the planks in the loft in a cramped posi- 
 tion, not daring to move, for fear he would be 
 discovered, and this made the matter worse. But 
 it was nothing, after all. The Son of Ben Ali 
 raised himself, laughing, and limped into the 
 closet. 
 
 " But he did n't stay there long. He came 
 out to stretch himself. This made the man 
 named Abe uneasy, and then he became angry. 
 But the Son of Ben Ali simply laughed at him. 
 This made him still angrier, and he threatened 
 to go to the white folk's house — that 's what he 
 called it — and tell them that a runaway negro 
 
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 107 
 
 had taken possession o£ his cabin. The man 
 named Abe started out. I don't know whether 
 he would have gone if he had been let alone, 
 but he was not let alone. The Son of Ben Ali 
 seized him by the shoulders and jammed him 
 down on his stool, and then stood over him. 
 The man named Abe would have cried out, but 
 the Son of Ben Ali placed his hand softly on the 
 man's mouth and spoke one word — ' Listen ! ' 
 — but that was enough. 
 
 " The man named Abe quieted down at once. 
 But he said he would be killed if the white peo- 
 ple caught him hiding a runaway. At this, the 
 Son of Ben Ali called me to him and said : — 
 
 " ' Go out and stand by the door there. When 
 you hear any one coming, say so.' 
 
 " I limped out from under the bed the best I 
 could, for I was stiff, and scratched at the door 
 and asked to be let out. The man named Abe 
 opened the door, and watched to see what I 
 would do. I only went a few steps away from 
 the door, and then sat down, turning my head 
 in all directions and listening. When the man 
 named Abe shut the door again, I went and sat 
 on the steps. I heard the man ask the Son of 
 
108 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 Ben Ali if he was a witch, and the reply he got 
 was that the Son of Ben Ali was witch enough 
 not to be caught any more. Then the man 
 named Abe wanted to know if the Son of Ben 
 Ali was angry with him, and the answer he got 
 was that the Son of Ben Ali was the friend of 
 those who were his friends and was never angry 
 with them. 
 
 " Well, they had their supper in there, for I 
 could hear them chewing, and presently the man 
 named Abe came to the door and gave me mine, 
 the biggest half of a warm hoe-cake, and I don't 
 know that plain bread ever tasted better than it 
 did right then. 
 
 " Not long after that I heard some one laugh- 
 ing and talking in the direction of the big house 
 up yonder, and the sounds seemed to get nearer. 
 I gave the warning, and I soon heard the Son of 
 Ben Ali go into the closet. The voices came 
 nearer, and I soon knew one for the Young Mis- 
 tress, whom I had heard talking in the woods 
 that very morning. The other seemed to be the 
 voice of a child, but I heard thump — thump — 
 thump — as of some one walking with a heavy 
 cane. So I said to myself the Master is with 
 
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 109 
 
 them. But, no ; it was the little boy, who walked 
 with the crutches, as I soon saw. He was plead- 
 ing with his sister to come to the house of the 
 man named Abe and get him to tell a tale, such 
 as he used to tell her when she was a little girl. 
 She said she was too large for that, but the Little 
 Master declared that he was small enough for 
 both of them. And so they came to the door. 
 
 " The Young Mistress called out ' Uncle Abe ! ' 
 and the man named Abe opened the door. He 
 looked out cautiously, and with a frown on his 
 face, as I could see ; but when he found who it 
 was he danced around, and opened the door as 
 nimbly as if he had been a young man. I try to 
 be polite myself, and sometimes I shake my tail 
 pretty hard, but the man named Abe shook his 
 whole body, he was so polite, and bowed nearly 
 to the floor. And it was n't put on, neither, as 
 I found out afterward, for every one on the place 
 loved the Young Mistress and Little Master. 
 These two went in, and I followed them. I 
 wanted to see what would happen. 
 
 "After a while, in bustling around, one of 
 them stepped on my foot. Of course this hurt 
 my feelings, and I cried out. 
 
110 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " ' Poor doggie ! ' said the Little Master. 
 ' Come here ! ' He looked at me closely, and 
 exclaimed : — 
 
 " ' Why, this is one of the Gossett track dogs ! 
 What is he doing here ? ' 
 
 " But the man named Abe said he did n't know. 
 Then the Young Mistress wondered if I was one 
 of the dogs that had been running after a negro 
 in the woods that morning, and she asked the 
 man named Abe, looking at him hard, if he had 
 seen a strange negro bring the filly home. But 
 the man named Abe shook his head and fumbled 
 with the splits which he wove into baskets. 
 
 " The Little Master said he had come to hear 
 a story, one of those old stories about Brother 
 Fox and Brother Rabbit. I thought to myself 
 that if all the rabbits I had caught could talk, 
 they would have more stories to tell than the 
 Little Master had time to listen to. The man 
 named Abe shuffled around and coughed and 
 excused himself, but it was no use. I knew he 
 wanted the Young Mistress and the Little Master 
 to go away. He was uneasy about the Son of 
 Ben AH — afraid that they might discover the 
 runaway. But nothing would satisfy the Little 
 
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. Ill 
 
 Master but a story, and so the man named Abe 
 sat down and told him one. And then nothing 
 would satisfy him but another story, and so they 
 went on, until finally I fell asleep by the hearth. 
 I could hear the story-telhng going on in my 
 dreams, and I remember I said to myself that if 
 the man named Abe, or any other man, was as 
 willing to work as he was to talk, a good many 
 things would be different. 
 
 " While I was lying there dozing, I heard the 
 Son of Ben Ali begin to snore. The Little Mas- 
 ter heard it too, for he asked what the noise was. 
 The man named Abe said it was the dog — mean- 
 ing me — and then he went on with his story, 
 moving his feet about on the floor and talking 
 loud. I dozed off again, and was getting ready 
 to go to sleep sure enough, for I was tired, when 
 suddenly I heard a noise outside, as of two or 
 three persons creeping around the cabin. I 
 jumped up and ran to the door and smelt under 
 it. The scent that came under the door was the 
 scent of strange persons, and of white people at 
 that. Just as I was about to cry out my discov- 
 ery I got a whiff of another scent. I knew at 
 once that George Gossett was with the strange 
 
112 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 persons, and that they were patroling the settle- 
 ment searching for the Son of Ben AH. 
 
 " I gave one whine, and ran under the bed, 
 for I did n't want young Grizzly to see me there. 
 
 " ' What is the matter with the dog ? ' asked 
 the Young Mistress, in some alarm. 
 
 " * Sh-h ! ' said the man named Abe, softly. 
 
 " Then some one struck the door with a cane, 
 following it with a loud demand : — 
 
 " ' Hello, here ! Open this door ! ' 
 
 "Peeping from under the bed, I watched to 
 see what would happen. The man named Abe 
 looked hard at the. Young Mistress. She, rising, 
 swung the chair behind her, leaning on it with 
 her left hand. She lifted her right arm and 
 and waved it toward the door. 
 
 " ' Open it ! ' she said. 
 
 " The man named Abe did as he was bid. He 
 threw it open suddenly and stood behind it. 
 Young Grizzly must have been leaning heavily 
 against it, for he stumbled into the room and 
 came near falling. 
 
 " ' What are you trying to do ? Why you ' — 
 Then, looking up, he caught sight of the Young 
 Mistress standing there with anger in her face. 
 
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 113 
 
 Young Grizzly took off his hat and bowed low. 
 There were pieces of sticking-plaster on his fore- 
 head and cheek bones. He caught his breath 
 and stammered : ' I beg your pardon, ma'am, 
 I' — 
 
 " ' Uncle Abe,' said the Young Mistress, c go 
 to the house and tell father that Mr. Gossett — 
 Mr. George Gossett — has called to see him on 
 business, but has missed his way.' 
 
 " ' Not at all, Miss Eachel ! Not at all ! I 
 beg ten thousand pardons ! I was hunting a 
 runaway nigger in the settlement, and I thought 
 perhaps — maybe — I might find him here. A 
 runaway nigger you know, Miss Rachel, is just 
 as apt to be in one place as another.' In this 
 way spoke young Grizzly, as he backed out at 
 the door, still bowing. 
 . " < Then, Uncle Abe, tell father ~ that Mr. 
 George Gossett believes one of his runaways is 
 hid on his place, and wants to find him.' 
 
 " ' By no means, Miss Rachel — by no means ! 
 Not for the world. You know me too well not to 
 know that I never intended any disrespect to you. 
 Not the least bit in the world.' So said young 
 Grizzly. 
 
114 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " c Who are your companions, sir ? ' asked the 
 Young Mistress, going toward the door. 
 
 " ' Just some of the neighbor boys, ma'am. I 
 asked them to come with me. None of us meant 
 the least harm, and certainly no disrespect to 
 you.' Thus spoke young Grizzly. 
 
 "By this time his companions had taken to 
 their heels, and young Grizzly was quick to fol- 
 low their example as soon as he got out of reach 
 of the Young Mistress's eyes. So said the man 
 named Abe, and he was standing where he could 
 see, having pretended to go after the White- 
 haired Master. Never have I seen a white man 
 more frightened than young Grizzly was." 
 
 " What was he afraid of ? " asked Sweetest 
 'Susan. 
 
 " Buckshot," replied Aaron. 
 
 Rambler yawned and then continued : — 
 
 " The Little Master was even angrier than 
 the Young Mistress, but he had said nothing. 
 When the door was shut he struck the floor 
 with his crutch and cried out : — 
 
 " ' Oh, I hope it is Aaron they are after, and 
 I hope they will never get him.' 
 
 " ' Aaron is his name,' said the man named 
 Abe. 
 
YOUNG GRIZZLY BOWED LOW 
 
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 115 
 
 " ' He rode my filly home to-day/ the Young 
 Mistress said. 
 
 "'Did he? Did he? I'll kiss you, sis, for 
 that ! ' So spoke the Little Master, and he was 
 as good as his word. He hopped nearly across 
 the floor on his crutches and smacked the Young 
 Mistress right in the mouth. 
 
 " I was wondering whether the Son of Ben 
 Ah was sleeping all this time, so I went and sat 
 by the closet. I could hear the Son of Ben Ali 
 breathing very hard, and I said to myself, if he 
 is not asleep, he is sitting in there crying." 
 
 Sweetest Susan looked at Aaron, and her 
 beautiful eyes were full of tears. Aaron shook 
 his head and smiled, and then pretended to be 
 gazing at something in the fireplace. 
 
 "He may have been laughing," continued 
 Rambler, licking his foreleg, where a briar had 
 scratched it, " but as there was nothing to laugh 
 at, that I could see, I thought maybe he was 
 crying. But maybe he was n't. I 'm never 
 certain of anything until I get my nose on it, 
 and there was a wall between the Son of Ben 
 Ah and me. 
 
 "The Young Mistress and the Little Master 
 
116 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 were very angry, but before tbey could say much 
 a very curious thing happened. The door of 
 the closet flew open, and the Son of Ben Ali 
 tumbled out in a heap on the floor. The Young 
 Mistress fell back a step or two and gave a little 
 scream, but the Little Master stood his ground 
 and lifted his crutch in a threatening manner. 
 But the Son of Ben Ah simply fell out of the 
 closet in a heap. He was still stiff and sore, 
 and by the time he had gathered himself to- 
 gether the Young Mistress knew who he was, 
 and in a moment, too, the Little Master knew 
 him. 
 
 " ' Why, it 's Aaron ! ' he cried, though no- 
 body ever told me why any one ever called the 
 Son of Ben AH Aaron. 
 
 " Then he seized the Son of Ben Ali's hand, 
 and stood leaning against him for support, as 
 he did many and many a day and night after, 
 as I have seen. The Little Master's head came 
 no higher than the Son of Ben Ali's shoulder, 
 though the child was standing on his feet, and 
 the Son of Ben AH on his knees. 
 
 " The Young Mistress said : ' If you stay 
 here they wiU catch you, sure.' 
 
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 117 
 
 " The Son of Ben Ali shook his head, and 
 the man named Abe made this reply: 'No, 
 ma'am, they '11 not come back here in a hurry, 
 after hearing what you said.' 
 
 " At this, they all laughed, except the Son of 
 Ben Ali. ' You may be certain,' he said, ' that 
 I '11 not stay here where I can be seen. The 
 Gossett negroes go hungry every day in the 
 year, and for an extra pint of meal they would 
 tell everything they know and more too. And 
 I would be the last to blame them.' 
 
 " Then suddenly the Little Master spoke : 
 ' Can you climb a tree ? ' 
 
 " ' By this time I ought to know how,' said 
 the Son of Ben Ali. 
 
 " ' Then come, I '11 show you.' So saying, 
 the Little Master swung himself on his crutches 
 and went hopping to the door as nimbly as if 
 his legs were sound and whole. And the Young 
 Mistress went too, and I followed. 
 
 "But by the time the Little Master had 
 reached the door the Son of Ben Ah was out and 
 before him. 
 
 " ' You are such a good rider, I '11 be your 
 horse,' said the Son of Ben Ali. 
 
118 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " He took the crutches, leaned them against 
 the door, and swung the Little Master to his 
 broad back, picking up the crutches, and sore 
 as he was, pretended to be a horse. We went 
 toward the big house. 
 
 " If you will notice, the stump of a big oak 
 tree stands near the back porch. Before the 
 tree was killed by fire, a big limb stretched to 
 the little balcony above the porch. At least, it 
 used to be so. The Little Master showed this 
 tree and the limb and the balcony to the Son of 
 Ben Ali, and told him that the big window that 
 opened on the balcony was in his room. And 
 he said to him : — 
 
 " ' Whenever at night you feel lonely and 
 tired, climb these stairs and come to my room. 
 Many a night I lie awake and count the stars, 
 and I should like to have you there to talk to 
 me. You may come to-night, if you will.' 
 
 " The Son of Ben Ali stood a moment after 
 he had placed the Little Master on the steps 
 and given him his crutches. 
 
 " ' Not to-night — not to-night, Little Master. 
 But before long I '11 come. To-night I must go 
 into the woods and find me a hiding-place.' 
 
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 119 
 
 " So said the Son of Ben Ali, and then he 
 seized the Little Master's hand and kissed it, 
 bowed to the Young Mistress, whistled for me, 
 and went off into the woods humming an old 
 tune that made me feel sorry." 
 
 At this point Rambler tried to scratch between 
 his shoulders, first with one hind foot and then 
 with the other. Then he tried to bite the fleas, 
 but he could n't reach them, being old and stiff ; 
 and he sat and whined so pitifully that Aaron 
 rubbed his back with a pine knot. This seemed 
 to give him great relief, so much so that, hear- 
 ing the dogs barking in another part of the lot, 
 he ran out at the door to join them, and soon 
 the deep mellow sound of his voice was heard 
 baying with the rest. 
 
 Shortly afterward, the children bade Aaron 
 good-night, and it was n't long before they were 
 all in bed and sound asleep. 
 
vm. 
 
 When the children awoke the next morning, 
 they found that they were as much puzzled as 
 ever about Aaron. He had escaped from Mr. 
 Gossett and the patrol, and he had gone into 
 the woods; but what then? What did he do 
 there ? How long did he stay ? There were a 
 thousand questions they wanted to ask. So the 
 next time they saw Aaron, and each time there- 
 after, they begged him to tell them this and tell 
 them that, until finally he said he would take 
 them over to the two-mile . place some fine day, 
 and show them the White Pig. 
 
 Now, on that plantation, the White Pig was 
 a well-known character. His history was a short 
 one, but it was enough. A good many years 
 before that, an old sow, with thirteen pigs fol- 
 lowing her, concluded to go traveling. She 
 refused to come up to be fed when the other 
 hogs were called. Nobody knew the reason. 
 
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG. 121 
 
 The hog feeder had a beautiful song to call them 
 with, and a strong, melodious voice with which 
 to sing the song — a voice that could be heard 
 from one end of the plantation to the other. 
 But however long or however loud he might 
 call, the old sow with her thirteen pigs kept 
 close in the swamp. 
 
 Day after day the hog feeder called ; day 
 after day he expected them to come; and day 
 after day they failed to come. After so long a 
 time he went to hunt them. The old sow he 
 found, but her pigs were missing. Some said the 
 foxes and wildcats had caught the young ones, 
 and some said they had gone wild in the swamp. 
 But when the negroes planted their watermelon 
 and goober patches, they soon found out that not 
 all of the pigs had been caught. 
 
 Then a great effort was made to catch them. 
 Some were run down and caught with dogs, and 
 some were shot ; but one, the most mischievous 
 of all, was never caught. He kept out of the 
 way of the guns, and he ripped open and killed 
 all the dogs that came within reach of him. 
 He was fleet of foot and cunning. He never 
 came out of the canebrake except at night, and 
 
122 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 he was so white and swift that the negroes came 
 to be afraid of him. They said to themselves 
 that a pig that could fool the white people and 
 outrun a pack of foxhounds must be something 
 more than a common pig. 
 
 Consequently, when they were going through 
 the fields at dead of night and heard the White 
 Pig crunching goobers, or chewing sugar-cane, 
 or smacking his mouth over a yam potato, they 
 said nothing, but slipped away as fast as they 
 could, and left him to the enjoyment of his feast. 
 This went on until the White Pig grew to be 
 Strong and dangerous. His tusks, or tushes, as 
 the negroes called them, were long and sharp. 
 He could kill as many dogs as could be piled 
 upon him. When a catch dog was sent after him, 
 he had a great trick of running until the dog 
 came close enough, and then wheeling and rip- 
 ping the pursuer's hide open. 
 
 It came to pass that the sport of hunting the 
 White Pig grew too dangerous to be indulged in, 
 so he was left to roam in the swamps and cane- 
 brakes with no one to molest. It happened, too, 
 that as soon as he was left alone, the White Pig 
 ceased to molest the watermelons, sugar-canes, 
 
mm f w « 
 
 WWW" 
 
 11 
 
 THE WHITE PIG GREW STRONG AND DANGEROUS 
 
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG. 123 
 
 sweet potatoes, goobers, and other truck, which 
 the negroes were allowed to raise in order to make 
 themselves a little pocket money. For a long 
 time this was the wonder of the plantation, and 
 yet none of the patches planted by the negroes 
 were torn up and destroyed. Then, as everybody 
 got used to this state of things, it ceased to be 
 astonishing, and was no longer talked of. And 
 some of the negroes even forgot that the White 
 Pig was still at large, ready and willing to kill 
 and cripple the biggest pack of dogs that could 
 be sent against him. 
 
 This, then, was the White Pig that Aaron said 
 he would have to show the children. Many and 
 many a time they had been told not to go too far 
 from the house for fear the White Pig would 
 catch them. They had been taught to regard 
 the White Pig as the Booger-Bear of the plan- 
 tation, and they, as well as the negroes, stood 
 greatly in awe of him, the more so as they had 
 never seen him. It is no wonder, therefore, that 
 they looked at one another with some astonish- 
 ment when Aaron told them that he would have 
 to take them to the two-mile place and show 
 them the White Pig. 
 
124 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 "I speck he's tired of foolin' 'long wid us," 
 said Drusilla, by way of explanation, " an' I don't 
 blame him much, kaze you-all been a-follerin' 
 atter him an' a-ding-dongin' at him twel he done 
 plum' wo' out." 
 
 " You too ! " exclaimed Buster John. 
 
 " Not me ! " protested Drusilla. " No, suh ! I 
 ain't been a-ding-dongin' atter Unk A'on ; I ben 
 a-follerin' atter you-all, an' dat what Mistiss tol' 
 me ter do. Ef I don't do it, she '11 make me tote 
 water fer mammy ter wash de cloze wid, an' I 
 know mighty well I don't want ter do dat." 
 
 But Aaron, as it turned out, was not joking at 
 all. So, one pleasant morning, when he saw 
 them playing in the spring lot, he gave them to 
 understand that the time had come for them to 
 make the acquaintance of the White Pig, and 
 Buster John said he was quite ready ; but Sweetest 
 Susan looked at Drusilla and hesitated a little. 
 Drusilla looked at Sweetest Susan and hesitated 
 a good deal. In fact, she drew back. 
 
 " Now, I tell you what," she said, " you-all 
 kin go on out dar in de swamp an' le' me stay 
 here, an' den when you come back you kin set 
 down an' tell me all 'bout it." 
 
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG. 125 
 
 " But mamma said you were to go "with us 
 wherever we went," Sweetest Susan reminded 
 her. 
 
 "Dat what she say," replied Drusilla, "yit she 
 ain't tell me to go wid you out dar whar dat ar 
 wil' hog is, which he done cripple a hoss an' kilt 
 a yardful er dogs. Unk A'on kin take keer er 
 you lots better dan what I kin." 
 
 " Come on," said Buster John to Sweetest 
 Susan. " Let her stay if she wants to." 
 
 " Yes," remarked Aaron, " she's big enough to 
 go to the field now. We need her there right 
 
 now." 
 
 This did n't suit Drusilla at all, so she ran 
 toward the others, laughing. 
 
 " I wuz des f oolin'," she said. " I des wanted 
 ter see what you-all gwine ter do. You may 
 not need me, but I 'm gwine anyhow, an' ef de 
 White Pig git me, you '11 hatter answer to Mistiss 
 for it." 
 
 Aaron hitched a mule to the plantation cart, 
 and in this rig they made their way to the two- 
 mile place. They jogged along the little-used 
 road, the journey being enlivened by some of the 
 queer songs that Aaron was in the habit of sing- 
 
126 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 ing when he was in a good humor. They went 
 nearly to the river — the Oconee — and then 
 Aaron turned out of the plantation road, and 
 drove straight through the woods and bushes 
 until they came in sight of a big cane-brake. 
 Here he stopped, took the mule from the cart, 
 and fastened him with a long tether, so that he 
 could browse around, and nibble the grass and 
 bushes. Then he lifted Sweetest Susan to his 
 broad shoulders, took Buster John by the hand, 
 and went toward the cane-brake. He went on 
 until he came to the damp ground near the edge 
 of the swamp. Selecting a dry place — a little 
 knoll higher than the rest — Aaron stationed the 
 children there, and then went to the verge of the 
 cane-brake. Here he paused, placed his two 
 hands to his mouth, and gave utterance to a 
 peculiar call, or cry. It sounded as if he were 
 trying to say, "Goof — goof — goof!" but had 
 smothered the noise with his hands. It was loud 
 enough to be heard a considerable distance, how- 
 ever, for after he had repeated the call three 
 times there was a reply from the farther side of 
 the swamp, and presently the children heard a 
 rushing, crashing sound among the canes. 
 
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG. 127 
 
 Sweetest Susan crept a little closer to Buster 
 John, and Drusilla snuggled up to Sweetest Susan. 
 The children were not frightened, but they were 
 filled with unknown anticipations. They knew 
 not what to expect next. The crashing noise in 
 the canes seemed to come nearer, and then it 
 suddenly stopped. If it was the White Pig, he 
 was listening. 
 
 " Come, White Pig ! Come, Grunter, come ! " 
 called Aaron. " Are you then afraid ? " 
 
 The crashing sound in the canes was renewed 
 more violently than ever, and in a moment the 
 White Pig — the terror of the plantation — burst 
 from the reeds with a grunt that was nearly a 
 roar. 
 
 "I dunner what they call him a pig fer," 
 whispered Drusilla, " he big enough for two 
 hogs." 
 
 And this was true. The White Pig was not 
 fat, but he was lean and tall. He was not a 
 pretty pig by any means. There was a vicious 
 twinkle in his eye. His body was nearly covered 
 with mud, and one of his ears was gone, having 
 been torn away by dogs when he was less able to 
 defend himself than now. 
 
128 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " It is long since I 've seen you, Son of Ben 
 Ali. Humph ! No wonder ! What ami?" 
 
 Aaron was about to say something, but the 
 quick, restless eye of the White Pig caught sight 
 of the children, and, with a snort of mingled fear 
 and rage, he plunged into the cane-brake again. 
 He ran a little way, as the children could see by 
 the shaking of the reeds, and then stopped to 
 listen. He heard nothing but the loud laugh 
 Aaron sent after him. 
 
 " Go, then ! " cried Aaron. " Go and stay. 
 In the light here your shadow will catch you. 
 Go, then ! The White Pig that used to roam 
 these fields with me had neither the heart nor the 
 feet of a fox." 
 
 Presently, when everything was quiet, the 
 children could see by the shaking of the reeds, 
 that the White Pig was coming out again. But 
 this time he came no further than the edge of 
 the swamp. Nothing could be seen except his 
 head and shoulders, and these, with one ear gone, 
 were not as pretty as a picture. His bristles 
 stood up straight and stiff, from fear or anger, 
 giving him a ragged appearance, and he opened 
 and closed his mouth viciously. 
 
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG. 129 
 
 " Humph ! humph ! " he said. " Who are these, 
 Son of Ben Ah, and what trap have you set for 
 me?" 
 
 "Some little children armed with broom 
 straws," laughed Aaron. " Eun, White Pig, 
 run. They will catch you, sure ! " 
 
 " Boof ! " cried the White Pig contemptuously. 
 " The Spotted Sow goes about with her children 
 squealing behind her. When did the Son of Ben 
 Ali take up that trade ? Boof ! " 
 
 " When the White Pig became afraid of his 
 shadow," replied Aaron. 
 
 " Then why call me? " asked the White Pig. 
 
 Aaron shook his head slowly. "You are 
 right," he replied. " Why should I call you at 
 night, when I have a basket of new corn scattered 
 for you?" 
 
 " Humph ! " grunted the White Pig. 
 
 "I call you because I choose to. The chil- 
 dren yonder have seen the sign ; they have been 
 touched. They know who we are and what we 
 are. Two belong by blood to the Little Master. 
 That is enough for me." 
 
 " Humph ! Boof ! Son of Ben Ali, it is also 
 enough for me. Goof! I have seen them — 
 
130 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 they have seen me — what more can I do ? Why 
 should I stay ? The mud in the swamp is soft 
 and cool, but here the sun shines hot." 
 
 " If I had a bag of corn," suggested Aaron. 
 
 "I say nothing, Son of Ben AH. I see no 
 corn, and the sun shines hot. What am I to 
 do?" 
 
 " These who have been touched and who have 
 seen the sign are here to speak with you. They 
 came to hear you tell of the time when you and I 
 lived in these fields together, sleeping and hiding 
 in the daytime, and slipping about at night." 
 
 The White Pig's bristles no longer stood up. 
 
 " Humph ! " he grunted. " I will go wallow in 
 the branch and wash the mud off." 
 
 " He gone ter wash his face and hands, an' 
 comb his hair," whispered Drusilla. " I speck he 
 gwine ter come buljin' out'n dat swamp terreckly, 
 an' den what we gwine do ? Ef he look hard at 
 me, I 'm gwine ter fall right flat on de groun' an' 
 holler loud ez I kin squall." 
 
 " Well, if you do that," said Buster John, 
 " you '11 scare him, and they say that when a wild 
 hog is scared he gets mad." 
 
 " I do' know what I 'm gwine ter do," remarked 
 
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG. 131 
 
 Drusilla, after a pause, during which she seemed 
 to be thinking. "But I tell you now, I feel 
 mighty quare. Ef dey wuz any tree 'roun' here 
 I 'd climb it er break my neck tryin'. You-all is 
 de outdoinest white chillun I ever hear tell un — 
 comin' way out here from yo' pa an' ma des ter 
 be ripped up an' kilt by a great big ol' wil' hog." 
 
 " You know the way back to the wagon," said 
 Buster John. " Just go there and wait till we 
 come. You make too much fuss anyhow." 
 
 " Go daf by myself ! " exclaimed Drusilla. 
 " No, suh ! You don' know me ! I would n't 
 go 'cross dat hill dar by myse'f, not fer ham ! 
 Uh-uh ! I know I ain't got much sense, but I 
 got mo' sense dan dat. I would n't mo' dan git 
 out er sight er you-all f o' dat ar White Pig would 
 have me. He may be gwine ter ketch me any- 
 how, but ef he do I'll be right here where 
 you-all kin see me. You done brung me, en 
 ef I git kilt, you-all will be de 'casion un it. 
 Ef Marster an' Mistiss done come ter de pass 
 whar dey want de niggers fed ter hogs, an' wil' 
 hogs at dat, den I ain't got no complaints ter 
 make." 
 
 But Buster John and Sweetest Susan were pay- 
 
132 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 ing the smallest attention to Drusilla. They were 
 watching Aaron, and waiting for the White Pig 
 to make his appearance again. Finally Aaron 
 turned away from the swamp and came to the 
 children, and presently they heard the White Pig 
 coming up behind them, grunting and " goofing," 
 though not so fiercely as before. 
 
 Drusilla turned and saw him coming, and ex- 
 claimed : " Dar now ! what I tell you. Ef I 'd 
 a-started to'rds dat wagon, he 'd a got me sho ez 
 de worl'. An' he may git me yit." She jumped 
 up and ran towards Aaron for protection. But 
 he shook her in a way to convince her that she 
 would do well to keep quiet. 
 
 The White Pig had gone into the swamp, 
 wallowed in the clean water of the branch, and 
 had then come out and gone around half a mile 
 to see that there was no ambuscade. He seemed 
 to be very well satisfied, for he grunted in a good- 
 humored way as he trotted up. 
 
 " You did n't go far enough, White Pig," said 
 Aaron, "I forgot you were growing old. My 
 men are hid behind the wagon on the other hill. 
 Next time I will bring them nearer — even to the 
 edge of the swamp." 
 
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG. 133 
 
 "Goof — goof!" replied the White Pig. 
 "What would you have? I am alone. You 
 are yonder. I am here. How do I know that 
 the Son of Ben Ali remains the same ? Humph ! 
 let me see for myself. Once you would go far to 
 scratch my back till I fell asleep in the shade. 
 Once you would shake down the scalybarks in 
 the woods. Now you fling corn here and there 
 and go your way. And sometimes many suns 
 and moons come between the baskets of corn. 
 Do I complain ? Goof ! I go into the cool 
 swamp and tell the red squirrels that the Son 
 of Ben Ali is sick, or away on a journey. And 
 they say ' Come,' and we go into the woods be- 
 yond the swamp, and then the red squirrels shake 
 down the scalybarks and the hickory nuts. Goof ! 
 goof ! " 
 
 Aaron laid his hand on the White Pig's back 
 and passed it gently through the thick bristles. 
 
 " That is so," said Aaron, " but you forget 
 about the yams that are left buried in the field 
 for you. You forget the goobers, the turnips, 
 and the bank of sugar-cane. You forget the 
 corn that is scattered here and there for you 
 every day when the weather is cold." 
 
134 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " Goof ! Why should I think of them, Son of 
 Ben Ali ? Hot or cold, the long swamp is a feed 
 trough for me. I need never come out of it. 
 What is it to me if you come empty-handed, so 
 you come ? Do you think I have forgotten the 
 long nights when I trotted through the woods 
 with you? Or when I ran to the sound of your 
 whistling ? Or when I charged the hounds that 
 were trailing you and drove them away ? I was 
 thinking only of the Son of Ben Ali. I am get- 
 ting very old. My tusks are yellow, and one of 
 them is broken. I can run, but not so swiftly 
 as when I carried you the news of the great fire 
 one night. No, my legs fail me." 
 
 " You are old," said Aaron. " Of all your 
 kind, you are the oldest I have ever seen." 
 
 "Goof — humph! Why not? All the rest 
 are glad to run into the pen when they hear corn 
 falling from the basket. They go in and eat and 
 sleep until they are fat, and then some cold night 
 you see the fires lit, and then, one after another 
 you hear the fat fools in the pen squeal. Then 
 in the morning you can see them hanging by 
 their heels in a row. Goof ! I have seen it. 
 Hanging by their heels, their hair off, and their 
 
FOR NUTS 
 
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG. 135 
 
 throats cut. Oof ! It makes me shiver. I saw 
 it when I was running about with my mother, 
 and though I have gone hungry many a night, 
 never did I go through a gap in the fence that 
 was left for me, and never did I follow the rest 
 when they went to be fed in the pen." 
 
 All this time the White Pig, using his forefeet 
 as pivots, turned his body first one way and then 
 the other, watching every open space, and often 
 pausing to listen. There was an air of wildness 
 about him that kept the children quiet and sub- 
 dued. 
 
 " These," said Aaron, " are my friends. They 
 shall be yours, if you choose." 
 
 " Humph ! What do they want with me ? " 
 
 " We want to hear you tell about the time 
 when Uncle Aaron was a runaway," suggested 
 Buster John. 
 
 "Goof! Who is Uncle Aaron?" asked the 
 White Pig. 
 
 " Me," said Aaron. 
 
 " Oof — oof ! " cried the White Pig, scornfully. 
 " Eeturn to the swamp, Son of Ben Ali, where 
 we have no such names. The paths are all there. 
 I have kept them hard and firm. Come ! " 
 
136 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 Aaron shook his head. "It is too late," he 
 said. " I belong yonder ; you belong here." 
 
 " Then I '11 go where I belong. Ooft ! " 
 
 " When you have pleased my friends." 
 
 " To-morrow, Son of Ben AH. Not now. They 
 are too far from home. To-night, when the moon 
 stands high, I '11 come through the long lane that 
 has been closed, and hide in the plum thicket that 
 has been left in the peach orchard." 
 
 " So then," said Aaron, " we will go. Before 
 long I '11 come and have a race with you in the 
 swamp." 
 
 « Oof — ooft ! " grunted the White Pig. " You 
 shall win if you can ! " 
 
 Then Aaron and the children started back to 
 where they had left the wagon. The White Pig 
 trotted with them a quarter of a mile or more, 
 and then paused and sniffed the air. 
 
 " Gooft ! The sun is too bright here. As for 
 me, I travel in the dark." 
 
 With that he turned and went galloping back 
 into the swamp. 
 
IX. 
 
 THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 
 
 The next day the children were ready to go to 
 the plum thicket in the peach orchard as soon as 
 they had their breakfast, but while they were 
 talking about it a new trouble arose. It grew 
 out of a question asked by Drusilla. 
 
 " Is Unk A'on gwine 'long wid us ? " she in- 
 quired. 
 
 It was a natural and an innocent question, but 
 it presented a difficulty. Sweetest Susan looked 
 at Buster John for an answer, and Buster John 
 looked at Sweetest Susan and Drusilla, but made 
 no reply. 
 
 " Kaze ef he ain't," remarked Drusilla, pursu- 
 ing the subject, " you '11 des hatter count me out. 
 I '11 stan' off som'ers whar I kin run an' holler 
 when dat ar wil' hog git mad an' rip you up, but 
 when it comes ter gwine right whar he is when 
 Unk A'on ain't wid us, I ain't gwine ter do it. 
 So dar you got it, flat an' plain. I ain't gwine. 
 
138 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 I watch his eye yistiddy, an' time I see it lookin' 
 red on de eye-ball, I know'd dat ar hog was rank 
 pizen when he git mad." 
 
 Finally Buster John said he would find Aaron, 
 but Aaron was not to be found. He had gone 
 off with the plow hands early in the morning, and 
 wouldn't be back before night. Thereupon Buster 
 John declared that he was going to the plum 
 thicket, if he had to go by himself. 
 
 " I 'm most afraid," said Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " I 'm wuss'n dat," exclaimed Drusilla. " I 'm 
 skeered des dry so." 
 
 " Then both of you stay where you are," cried 
 Buster John. He started off very boldly, but not 
 without some misgivings. Looking back without 
 pretending to do so, he saw Sweetest Susan com- 
 ing, though very slowly, while Drusilla was drag- 
 ging along and bringing up the rear, quarreling, 
 and begging Sweetest Susan to turn back. Buster 
 John stopped and told his sister to come on, and 
 waited for her. 
 
 " I '11 go whar I kin see how dat wil' hog do 
 when he eats folks, but hosses can't drag me in 
 dat ar plum thicket whar he hidin'," remarked 
 Drusilla. 
 
THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 139 
 
 Sweetest Susan was not much afraid, seeing 
 Buster John so bold, and Buster John was made 
 bolder by the fact that his sister seemed willing 
 to go. So they went, Drusilla bringing up the 
 rear and protesting. 
 
 The plum thicket grew on each side of a gully 
 that had washed in the lower part of the orchard. 
 The plum trees were small and grew very close 
 together, and the gully was filled with a season's 
 growth of weeds that had not been uprooted by 
 the rains. So that, taken altogether, the plum 
 thicket was a very convenient hiding-place for the 
 White Pig, or for any other creature not larger 
 than a horse. 
 
 The children approached it cautiously, and 
 hesitated about entering. While they were halt- 
 ing and considering what to do, they heard a 
 grunt from the middle of the thicket — a grunt 
 as friendly and as familiar as if it came from a fat 
 hog in a pen. Reassured by this, Buster John 
 went into the thicket, followed by Sweetest Susan. 
 They went in cautiously and looked about them 
 very cautiously, but they could see nothing. 
 
 " Ooft — gooft ! " grunted the White Pig in a 
 contented manner. " Where am I ? Can't you 
 find me?" 
 
140 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 They looked about them with all the eyes they 
 had, but failed to find him. Their search became 
 so interesting that Sweetest Susan laughed. There 
 was nothing to laugh at, but she was so thrilled 
 by the excitement of trying to find the White Pig 
 — and he was not a small pig by any means — 
 that she had to express her feelings in some way, 
 and so she laughed. 
 
 At that moment Drusilla came to the edge of 
 the thicket. Hearing Sweetest Susan laugh, she 
 grew bold enough to venture in. 
 
 "What you-all doin,' I like ter know?" she 
 asked in a somewhat dubious tone. 
 
 " Oh, come and help us, Drusilla ! " cried Sweet- 
 est Susan, as gleefully as if she were playing 
 hide-the-switch, or kick-the-can. " We are trying 
 to find him. He 's hiding in here, and we can't 
 find him. Come on ! " 
 
 Drusilla joined the others, but not with any 
 degree of enthusiasm. " You-all want ter fin' 'im 
 lots wuss'n I does. I 'm mo' fear'd er fin'in' 'im 
 dan I is er not fin'in' 'im." 
 
 " Let 's go across the gully," said Buster John. 
 He ran down the bank, through the thick weeds, 
 and out on the other side, followed by Sweetest 
 
ft! , ' • 
 
 THE WHITE PIG TELLS HIS STORY 
 
THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 141 
 
 Susan. Drusilla would have followed, too, but 
 just as she had reached the bottom of the gully 
 and started through the weeds, the White Pig rose 
 by her side with a loud grunt. Drusilla was so 
 terrified that she sank in the weeds, unable to 
 utter a sound. Sweetest Susan screamed and 
 Buster John was so taken by surprise and so 
 confused, that for an instant he was undecided 
 whether to take to his heels, dragging his sister 
 after him, or whether to stand his ground. 
 
 " Gooft — ooft ! " grunted the White Pig. 
 "What is the matter here ? " 
 
 With this he walked out of the gully, went past 
 Buster John and Drusilla, and lay down where the 
 shade was thickest. Drusilla recovered almost 
 immediately, and, as sometimes happens with older 
 and more enlightened people, anger took the place 
 of fear. To the surprise of her companions, she 
 came out of the gully, walked straight to the 
 White Pig, and sat down by him, so close that 
 she might have touched him with her hand with- 
 out unbending her arm. 
 
 " Humph ! " grunted the White Pig, in a 
 friendly way. " That is better. The Son of Ben 
 Ali brought some roasting ears before the sun 
 
142 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 came out. They were very fine — sweet and 
 juicy. Gooft ! " The White Pig smacked his 
 mouth and blinked his eyes as if to show how he 
 had enjoyed the feast. Buster John and Sweetest 
 Susan seated themselves near Drusilla. 
 
 " The first time I saw the Son of Ben AH," 
 said the White Pig, " I was just big enough to 
 hide in the grass and run about without squealing 
 for my mammy. I used to slip out of the swamp 
 and run into the woods after the acorns. The red 
 squirrel was my friend then, and his great-grand- 
 children are my friends now. He used to climb 
 the big turkey oak, and run about on the limbs 
 pretending to be playing, but all the time he would 
 be shaking down the sweet little acorns. He 
 barked at me and I grunted at him, and we used 
 to have a very nice time all by ourselves. 
 
 " One day, while I was out in the open woods 
 cracking acorns, I heard some one call, ' Run here 
 little Pig ! run quick ! ' I did n't have any better 
 sense than to do as I was told, so I ran as hard as 
 I could toward the call. Then I heard a zooning 
 sound in the air, a loud squall, and a noise as of 
 a tree falling. I ran right into the hands of a 
 big man. I was terribly frightened, and I suppose 
 
THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 143 
 
 I must have squealed as loud as I could. The big 
 man was the Son of Ben Ali, and he hushed me 
 up by telling me that he called me because a wild- 
 cat had been watching me from the lowest limb of 
 the turkey oak. 
 
 " Humph — ooft ! " grunted the White Pig, 
 " the only reason he didn't get me was because 
 the Son of Ben Ali struck him with a stone just 
 as he started to jump. The wildcat fell out 
 of the tree dead. His skull was shivered. You 
 have never seen the Son of Ben Ali throw a 
 stone? Well that is between you and him. I 
 have seen him. 
 
 "He killed the wildcat that my mammy had 
 often told me about, and after that I came to know 
 the Son of Ben Ali well. Whenever I could find 
 him, night or day, I trotted around with him, and 
 that is how it happened that when my brothers 
 and sisters were shot by men and caught by dogs 
 I was not with them to be shot or caught. I was 
 trotting about with the Son of Ben Ali. 
 
 " It was the same thing day after day and night 
 after night, the Son of Ben Ali coming and going, 
 and I trotting at his heels or running in the bushes 
 close by. One day, when the sun had gone down, 
 
144 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 we were slipping along behind the orchard here. 
 The Son of Ben Ali said he was going to see the 
 Little Master, and I was to wait for him. I heard 
 a dog bark, and this made me stop. And then, 
 while I was listening, a man came upon us — a 
 white man. He seemed to rise out of a dark place 
 in the road. I dodged into a fence corner before 
 he saw me, and stood there, listening. 
 
 " ' Who are you ? ' said the Son of Ben Ali. 
 His voice shook a little. 
 
 " ' That 's what the owl said,' answered the 
 white man. This tickled me so that I grunted 
 before I knew it. The white man laughed, too, 
 and said he was the Teacher of the young people 
 at the big house. Gooft ! a Teacher ! There was 
 once a schoolhouse — they called it that, but it 
 was nothing in the world but a log cabin — in 
 the woods over yonder. Every day the Teacher 
 would come and pound and pummel the boys, and 
 every day the boys would go out and stone the 
 cows and hogs. They killed a blood cousin of 
 mine. 
 
 " So I said to myself, Gooft ! if this Teacher is 
 teaching the Little Master to do these things, I 
 ■will keep out of the Little Master's way. 
 
•d v 
 
 // ;" 
 
 I > 1/R ft* 
 
 A WILD CAT WAS WATCHING ME 
 
THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 145 
 
 "Humph! The Son of Ben Ah said to this 
 Teacher: ' You ought to know me. You saw me 
 in the speculator's train, and you saw me sold 
 from the hlock.' 
 
 " The Teacher placed his hand on the Son of 
 Ben Ali's shoulder and replied : ' I came from far 
 away, and there the people are thinking about you 
 and praying for you. Bear that in mind — think- 
 ing about you, and praying for you every day and 
 every night. Hundreds, thousands, tens of thou- 
 sands — all thinking about you and praying for 
 you.' 
 
 " Gooft — ooft ! This Teacher talked as the 
 man talks in the little house on the creek road 
 where the people go when the bell rings — the 
 little house with the high wooden chimney, where 
 the bell is." 
 
 "It is a church," said Buster John. 
 
 " Humph ! It may be a church for all I know. 
 I have stood in the woods and heard the man talk 
 to the people, and the Teacher talked just like 
 him. I don't know what else the Teacher said to 
 the Son of Ben Ali, nor what the Son of Ben Ah 
 said to him, but that night, after the Son of Ben 
 Ali had seen the Little Master, and when we were 
 
146 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 on our way back to the woods, we met the Teacher 
 again. He had been to another plantation, and 
 told the negroes there how the people in his 
 country were thinking about them and praying 
 for them. 
 
 " ' You go too far from home,' said the Son of 
 Ben AH. ' Many a negro where you 've been 
 to-night will tell what you have said, in hopes of 
 getting an extra rasher of meat.' 
 
 " Ooft — gooft ! " grunted the White Pig ; " and 
 hog meat at that. But the Teacher said that he 
 would trust them. 
 
 " ' The best good-night I can give you,' said the 
 Son of Ben Ali, ' is not to trust them too much 
 or too far.' 
 
 " Ooft — oof ! Now you might wonder how I 
 could remember such little things. But little 
 things have a way of growing, and this was one 
 of the little things that grew. Humph ! It grew 
 like a pumpkin vine. One thing followed another 
 like sheep jumping over a rail on the ground. 
 The last sheep to go over jumps higher than a 
 man's head. So with these things I am telling 
 you of. They grew, and tbey jumped. 
 
 "When we met the Teacher, the grass was 
 
THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 147 
 
 green, but it was not long before the winds began 
 to blow keen and cold, and then the grass shriveled 
 and the leaves on the trees began to fall. As for 
 me, I could lie in the sedge and keep warm, or I 
 could make me a bed of leaves on the windward 
 side of the fence and never know that the weather 
 was cold. With the Son of Ben Ali, it was dif- 
 ferent. Not having been born free to the woods 
 and the weather — to the four winds and the four 
 seasons — humph ! — he must have a fire. He 
 must have a fire that could be felt and not be 
 seen. So he dug him a hole in the ground, a 
 trench he called it, and in this he made his fire, 
 and he seemed to be very fond of it when the 
 weather was damp and cold. 
 
 " One night when I was returning from the yam 
 patch to the top of the hill, I heard horses going 
 along the road. I knew the horses had riders, 
 for I could hear no wheels. The fog was heavy 
 and thick, and so I went close to the road to see 
 and hear what I could. I slipped through the 
 wet grass and listened. Suddenly one of the 
 riders pulled up his horse and cried out : - 
 " ' Look ! look on the hill yonder ! ' 
 " I turned to see what it was, and it was terrible 
 
148 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 enough to scare anybody. On the clouds above 
 the hill was the shadow of a man as big as a fod- 
 der stack, and as high as the tallest pine. Even 
 the horses saw it and snorted with fear. The 
 shadow raised its arms above its head and then let 
 them drop quickly. I knew at once that it was 
 the shadow of the Son of Ben Ali, but even then 
 I had a quaking fear. Suddenly I heard another 
 voice call out : — - 
 
 " ' Whoever you are, come and help a man in 
 trouble.' 
 
 " The Son of Ben Ali heard it, too, for the cry 
 of the man for help had hardly died away before 
 the shadow on tbe clouds disappeared as if it had 
 been wiped out. I knew that the voice that had 
 called to the shadow was the voice of the Teacher, 
 the man who had told the Son of Ben Ali that 
 thousands and tens of thousands were praying for 
 him. And I wondered whether the thousands 
 and the tens of thousands were praying for the 
 Teacher, now that he seemed to be in trouble. 
 
 u The Teacher called again, and then I heard 
 the voice of old Grizzly's son George tell the man 
 to hush or he would blow his brains out. 
 
 " ' But I have done nothing to you, gentlemen,' 
 
LOOK ON THE HILL YONDER 
 
THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 149 
 
 said the Teacher. ' I have not harmed you in the 
 least. What have you seized me for, and where 
 are you taking me ? ' 
 
 " ' Hush, you sniveling wretch ! ' said old Griz- 
 zly's son George. ' You 've been colloguing with 
 the niggers, and telling them about freedom. 
 You want to raise an insurrection, and you'll 
 have to pay for it ! ' 
 
 " After that the Teacher said no more, and the 
 patrol rode on. I could see, dark as it was, that 
 they had the Teacher riding behind Old Grizzly's 
 son George. The Teacher was tied with a rope, 
 and the rope was fastened to Old Grizzly's son. 
 All this I saw, and I saw guns — goof t — the 
 things that burn and sting you from afar. It was 
 well that my eyes were fitted for the dark, other- 
 wise the Son of Ben Ali would have been riddled. 
 But I ran and met him, and told him of the guns. 
 He wanted to slip among the horses, cut the ropes 
 that bound the Teacher, and carry him out of 
 hearing among the bushes. But there were the 
 guns ! 
 
 " Then the Son of Ben Ali wanted me to run 
 ahead, get in the road and rush out at the horses 
 when they came up, while he cut the ropes from 
 
150 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 the Teacher. Gooft ! But there were the guns ! 
 We heard the men talking, and found that they 
 were going to take the Teacher to a cross-roads 
 store, called Harmony, seven miles away, and there 
 hang him." 
 
 Sweetest Susan shuddered. Drusilla cried, 
 " Well, suh ! " Buster John pulled up a big 
 bunch of grass and threw it away from him. His 
 face was red with anger or excitement. 
 
 " Humph ! Hang him to a limb ! " grunted the 
 White Pig. " Ooft ! There was a bridge a quarter 
 of a mile ahead. It was long and narrow and low 
 — just wide enough for a wagon and not higher 
 from the shallow creek than a man's head. Over 
 this bridge the men had to go, and the Son of 
 Ben Ali wanted me to run ahead, get on the 
 further end of the bridge, charge the horses when 
 they reached the middle, and then jump off and 
 get under the bridge before the men could make 
 their guns talk. It was not to my taste. If I 
 had had to choose between charging the horses on 
 that bridge and a mess of ripe persimmons — 
 humph — I think I would have taken a few of 
 the persimmons. But what could I do ? Gooft ! 
 The Son of Ben Ali had his mind made up. 
 
THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 151 
 
 " So I ran ahead, jumped over a low place in 
 the fence, and reached the bridge before the horses 
 did. I heard them come on the other end of the 
 bridge, and I tried to get my bristles up, but — 
 gooft — ooft — they would n't stay up. As the 
 men came across I went to meet them, and when 
 they came within a few steps of me, I charged at 
 them, making as much noise as I could, crying : 
 
 " < Gooft — ooft ! Gooft!' 
 
 " It was all so sudden that the horses were 
 terribly frightened. There were five of them. 
 One reared and I ran under his forelegs. Another 
 shied too far to one side, and went crashing 
 through the railing into the creek. One of the 
 horses kicked me, and — gooft ! — that made me 
 mad. For the first time my bristles rose. I 
 rushed at them with open mouth. Another 
 crashed through the railing and went over. All 
 this time I could see the Son of Ben AH at the 
 heels of the horse that was carrying the Teacher 
 and old Grizzly's son. 
 
 "But the horse was scared nearly to death. 
 His rider could n't manage him. He was wild. 
 Before the Son of Ben Ali could cut the rope, 
 the scared horse had whirled and rushed off the 
 
152 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 bridge, and I went after him. The Son of Ben 
 Ali disappeared, and I went over the fence and 
 rested in the bushes. Presently the Son of Ben 
 Ali came creeping to where I was. He was wet 
 with sweat and trembling all over. 
 
 " Neither the men nor the horses were hurt. 
 Gooft ! they came together and sat on their 
 horses within a few steps of where we lay. One 
 said it was a man seven feet high. Another said 
 it was a wild varment as big as a Hon. Still 
 another said it was Satan. Gooft — ooft ! The 
 Teacher said it was a warning. Ooft ! ' The 
 hand of the Lord is in it,' he said. 
 
 " ' It will be a hard race, little Grunter — a 
 hard race ! It is three miles to the big house, 
 and from there eight miles to Harmony. It is to 
 be a hard race, little Grunter — a hard race. 
 But it must be run.' So said the Son of Ben 
 Ali. 
 
 "'Ami to go, Son of Ben Ali ? ' I said. 
 
 " ' As far as you may and as fast as you can, 
 little Grunter.' 
 
 " Gooft ! you have never seen the Son of Ben 
 Ali throw a stone, and you have never seen him 
 run ! We got in the big road where the ground 
 
THE WHITE PIG'S STORY. 153 
 
 was firm. Gooft ! I began to gallop, but I 
 heard the Son of Ben Ali right at my heels. I 
 began to run, and — gooft — ooft ! — I heard him 
 closer at my heels. The faster I went, the faster 
 the Son of Ben Ali went. I was a pretty swift 
 runner and am to this day, but that night I could 
 never get more than twenty steps away from the 
 Son of Ben Ali. Gooft ! he was running to save 
 life, and I was running for fun. Once we passed 
 a stray traveler — a stray negro. He called out : 
 ' What are you trying to do, brother ? ' Ooft ! 
 — and the Son of Ben Ali called back : ' Trying 
 to catch little Grunter, brother ! ' Gooft — and 
 the stranger cried : ' I wish you mighty well, my 
 brother ! ' 
 
 " Gooft — ooft ! It was a warm race and a 
 long one. We were not going as fast at the end 
 as we were at the beginning. Ooft ! but we were 
 going. And we went till we came to the horse 
 lot, and then I stopped. I spoke to the Son of 
 Ben Ali and said, that we were now as close to 
 the hogpen as I hoped ever to be, and so he cried 
 out as he ran : ' Good night, little Grunter ! ' I 
 heard him go to the stable where the Black Stal- 
 lion, the Son of Abdallah, is kept. Then I heard 
 
154 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 the door thrown open, and the Son of Abdallah 
 came out with a scream and a snort, and that is 
 all I know. The rest the Black Stallion can tell 
 you. 
 
 " Ooft — gooft ! That is all. Say nothing to 
 no one. I '11 sleep here a little, and when the 
 sun gets lower I '11 slip away to the swamp." 
 
 "We are very much obliged to you," said 
 Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " Humph — umph ! Humph — umph ! " 
 grunted the White Pig. " Nicely said — nicely 
 said ! I 'm over-paid." 
 
X. 
 
 THE BLACK STALLIONS STORY. 
 
 The children were anxious to hear the rest of 
 the story at once, but they were compelled to 
 wait. The White Pig had told all he knew, and 
 Aaron was on the other side of the plantation. 
 So Buster John and Sweetest Susan amused them- 
 selves by wondering whether the Teacher was 
 hanged or whether he was rescued. As for Dru- 
 silla, she very plainly said that she did n't much 
 care. It was all past and gone anyhow. Break 
 a pumpkin, she said, and nobody in the world 
 can mend it, not even if people were to come 
 and cry over it. 
 
 But Buster John and Sweetest Susan thought 
 it made all the difference whether a man was 
 hanged or saved. They talked about it a good 
 deal, and when they went to the house they asked 
 their grandfather the name of the man who had 
 come from a far country to teach their Uncle 
 Crotchett. The old gentleman leaned back in 
 
156 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 his chair and looked at the youngsters. He smiled 
 a little, and then closed his eyes and seemed to 
 be thinking. The question had carried him back 
 to the past. 
 
 " Have you forgotten his name, Grandfather ? " 
 asked Sweetest Susan, after a while. 
 
 " Forgotten his name ! " exclaimed the grand- 
 father. " Oh, no ! No, indeed ! His name was 
 Hudspeth — Eichard Hudspeth. I remember him 
 as well as if he had been here only yesterday. 
 At bottom, he was a fine character. He came 
 here from Massachusetts, and he went back 
 there." 
 
 The grandfather paused and drummed gently 
 on the arms of his easy chair. Then — 
 
 " Yes ; he went back there. He is a big man 
 now. He was elected to Congress some time ago. 
 We have had some correspondence. He is a very 
 able man. I wonder if he remembers his adven- 
 tures here ? " 
 
 " He is a bitter abolitionist," said the children's 
 father. 
 
 " He was always- that," said the grandfather. 
 " But I shall always love him on account of Little 
 Crotchett. The two were devoted to each other." 
 
THE BLACK STALLION'S STORY. 157 
 
 " Grandfather," said Sweetest Susan, after a 
 while, " what is a bitter abolitionist ? Is n't that 
 what papa said?" she asked, seeing her grand- 
 father laugh. 
 
 " My darling child, you would n't know now if 
 I were to tell you. Run along with Drusilla. 
 I '11 think it over, and tell you about it some other 
 time." 
 
 Sweetest Susan and Drusilla joined Buster 
 John in the yard, and there they discussed the 
 matter, without coming to any conclusion. Buster 
 John knew that the abolitionists wanted to free 
 the negro slaves, but that was all. 
 
 That night they went to Aaron's house and 
 asked him whether the Teacher had been hanged 
 or rescued, but Aaron said he was too tired to sit 
 up and talk. He said he would be around the lot 
 all day the next day, and then they could go and 
 see Timoleon, who could tell all about it. This 
 satisfied the children, and they went to bed happy 
 in the expectation of visiting the Black Stallion. 
 
 The children were up bright and early the next 
 morning, which was something unusual, for they 
 were very fond of sleeping late. As soon as 
 Drusilla had eaten her breakfast — she waited on 
 
158 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 the children, at the table, and was allowed to eat 
 as soon as they had finished — all three went 
 hunting for Aaron. They found him right where 
 they wanted to find him, in the lot where Timo- 
 leon's stable stood. So they went to him, and he 
 lost no time in opening the door of the stable. 
 
 The Black Stallion did not have fresh air and 
 exercise every day, and so he sprung through the 
 open door and went galloping madly about the 
 field, sending forth a screaming challenge to the 
 whole plantation. He galloped about the field as 
 far as the limits of the high fence would permit, 
 and paid no attention to either Aaron or the 
 children. 
 
 " He has forgotten us," said Sweetest Susan in 
 some alarm. 
 
 Aaron laughed. " Folks forget," said he, " but 
 my brothers that run on four legs never forget." 
 
 When the Black Stallion had taken his exercise, 
 he walked slowly back to the stable, sometimes 
 pausing to crop the grass or to hold his head high 
 in the air. 
 
 " Grandson of Abdallah," said Aaron, " you 
 have forgotten your friends." 
 
 "I am the forgotten one, Son of Ben Ali," 
 
THE BLACK STALLION'S STORY. 159 
 
 replied Timoleon, "my feed is chucked into the 
 trough, the door is shut, and I am left to chew 
 my cud. Am I a cow, that I should be chewing 
 my cud ? Am I a hog, that I should be fastened 
 in a pen ? " 
 
 "Whose fault, Grandson of Abdallah? You 
 will have no one to feed you but me, and I — 
 well, what I have to do I must do. The grand- 
 children of the White-Haired Master are here." 
 
 " I thought they had forgotten me, Son of Ben 
 Ali. I am glad they are here; But what of it ? 
 I go in my pen, and the door is closed ; what 
 matters it to me whether they are here or 
 yonder ? " 
 
 " No, Grandson of Abdallah. In the pasture 
 here the morning sun shines, the grass is green, 
 the air is cool. Here for a little while you may 
 stay with these grandchildren of the White-haired 
 Master. Your stable is to be cleaned." 
 
 For answer, the Black Stallion sought out a 
 soft place in the grass, held his head close to the 
 ground, walked in a small circle that constantly 
 grew smaller until his knees bent under him, and 
 then he keeled over on his side and began to 
 wallow. This finished, he rose and began to 
 
160 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 graze close to the children, apparently as gentle 
 as any horse could be. 
 
 "Do you remember the night the White- 
 haired Master rode you to Harmony?" asked 
 Aaron from inside the stable. 
 
 The Grandson of Abdallah raised his head and 
 went to the stable door, his mouth half full of 
 grass. Some of the grass must have tickled his 
 nose, for he snorted twice in quick succession. 
 
 " Do I remember it, Son of Ben Ali ? How 
 could I forget it ? It was a little while before the 
 big race at Lexington. That was the night I 
 learned how to put my nose at a horse's flank and 
 run the breath out of him." 
 
 " The children of the White-haired Master 
 would like to hear of that," said Aaron. 
 
 " It was at night," remarked the Black Stallion, 
 threshing at a perverse fly with his tail. " What 
 time, I know not, but I had been dozing, and just 
 before that I had heard the chickens crow. There 
 was no moon. The big white star was glittering 
 where the sun rises, and there was frost in the 
 air. Suddenly I heard some one tugging at my 
 stable door and the voice of the Son of Ben Ali 
 calling. 
 
THE BLACK STALLION'S STORY. 161 
 
 " The door was barred, but he broke the bar. 
 The stable was dark, but he found the bridle, 
 blanket, and saddle. He cried : — 
 
 " ' Steady, Son of Abdallah ! There is work 
 for us this night ! ' 
 
 " I bit at him in play, and took a piece of his 
 coat off, but he made no pause until saddle and 
 bridle were on. Then he ran through the door, 
 crying ' Come, Son of Abdallah ! Come ! There 
 is work for us to-night ! Steady ! You will have 
 play enough before the night is over.' 
 
 " I liked nothing better than that, so I sprang 
 through the door, and went galloping after the 
 Son of Ben Ah. He ran to the house, and there 
 I saw the Gray Mare, my sister, standing. She 
 was bridled, but the saddle was missing. 
 
 " ' Stand here ! ' said the Son of Ben Ali. He 
 placed his hand on the yard fence and sprang 
 over, though the gate was near. He ran to the 
 big tree near the corner of the house, and began 
 to walk upward. This was new to me, so I started 
 back in some surprise. But the Son of Ben Ali 
 called to me to be quiet, and in a minute he had 
 disappeared in the little window that juts from the 
 roof. 
 
162 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " Then I heard the voice of the Little Master 
 crying ' Take me down stairs ! ' 
 
 "In a little while the Son of Ben Ali came 
 down the tree and stood at the door, which was 
 presently opened by the White-haired Master. 
 His speech was short and quick : — 
 
 " ' Where are the horses ? ' 
 
 " ' Here, Master,' said the Son of Ben Ali, who 
 came running toward me. ' Mount here, Master.' 
 
 " ' Show me the way ! ' said the White-haired 
 Master. 
 
 " The Son of Ben Ali flung himself on the 
 Gray Mare, my sister. The gates were all open, 
 and we went through them in a hurry. I felt the 
 White-haired Master settle himself in the saddle 
 and try the stirrups. Then his knees pressed a 
 little closer to the saddle, and I thought, ' Here 
 is a rider — a little heavy, but more helpful than 
 a lighter man who has never learned to fit himself 
 to the curve of the saddle, and to move as the 
 horse moves.' He reached his right arm forward 
 to feel of the play of my shoidders, and gave me 
 a gentle pat by way of praise. 
 
 "The Gray Mare, my sister, was trained for 
 racing, while I was raw and untried, waiting for 
 
THE BLACK STALLION'S STORY. 163 
 
 my turn, that came afterward, and she tripped 
 along ahead of me as lightly as a rabbit that has 
 just been frightened from its bed. 
 
 "We cleared the gates and the narrow lane, 
 and presently struck into the big road. 
 
 " ' Are we going to Harmony ? ' asked the 
 White-haired Master. 
 
 " « Yes, Master.' 
 
 " ' We shall have to ride, then.' 
 
 " At that the Gray Mare, my sister, seemed to 
 glide aWay from me. The Son of Ben Ah had 
 slapped her with his open hand. I went after her 
 with a little rush "that never moved the White- 
 haired Master in his saddle. I felt my blood 
 tingling. Whatever the Gray Mare, my sister, 
 was doing, I knew I was going at only half speed, 
 and I longed to show the White-haired Master 
 what I could do. 
 
 " I said as we galloped, ' My sister, this night 
 you will see which of us has the swiftest feet.' 
 The answer she made was a loud snort, and again 
 she tried to glide away, but I kept my muzzle at 
 the Son of Ben Ali's knee. 
 
 " < Not now,' said the Son of Ben Ah. < Wait ! 
 Wait till we cross the bridge.' 
 
164 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " ' Are we riding or playing ? ' asked the White- 
 haired Master. ' Man, we '11 be too late ! ' 
 
 " ' When we cross the bridge, we '11 go, Master," 
 said the Son of Ben Ali. 
 
 "Yet the ground was firm and springy, and 
 the road level. I was so fretted that I bit at the 
 Son of Ben Ali's leg. ' You won't play when you 
 come to your journey's end, Grandson of Abdallah,' 
 he said. I knew then that we would go fast 
 enough after awhile, and so I fell back a little 
 and settled down to a swift, steady gallop. My 
 easy movements must have pleased the White- 
 haired Master, for he reached forward and gave 
 me a love-lick, saying, ' Good horse ! ' 
 
 " So in a little while we came to the bridge, a 
 small affair, but rickety. On the other side the 
 Son of Ben Ah leaned forward a little, saying, 
 ' Now, Master ! ' The Gray Mare, my sister, 
 leaped away from me with a snort. I threw my 
 head forward as the White-haired Master gave me 
 the length of the rein, and the Gray Mare, my 
 sister, soon found that she would not have the 
 road to herself. 
 
 "Within a quarter of a mile, I was running 
 with my nose at her flank, and I kept it there. 
 
:r~H ••• ^/BBSBBSBSi 
 
 r-H\^p- 
 
 THE GRAY MARE LEAPED AWAY FROM ME 
 
THE BLACK STALLION'S STORY. 165 
 
 I could have run past her, but I knew the White- 
 haired Master would give the word for that, and 
 so I kept my place. Yet, I could feel that the 
 Gray Mare, my sister, was trying her best to get 
 away from me. 
 
 " The sound of our feet on the hard road must 
 have made a terrible clatter. I could hear it flung 
 back at us from the woods on either side. Once, 
 as we were passing a house by the roadside, a 
 pack of curs came trooping out at us. This was 
 my chance. The Gray Mare, my sister, shied, 
 while I ran right through the pack, knocking 
 them right and left. The White-haired Master 
 touched me again, saying, ' Good horse ! ' and 
 shook the reins just a little, but it was enough. 
 Before the dog I had crippled could yelp twice, I 
 had taken the road away from the Gray Mare, my 
 sister. I could hear her coming behind me. I 
 could hear the Son of Ben Ah slap her first with 
 his open hand, and then with the slack of the 
 bridle rein. 
 
 " But it did no good. I loved to listen to the 
 clatter of my feet on the hard clay in the road. 
 I was proud to feel that I was not running at full 
 speed. I was proud to know that the White-haired 
 
166 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 Master had grown young again, and to feel him 
 holding the reins just steady enough to catch me 
 should I chance to stumble. I was proud to feel 
 him sitting in the saddle, balancing himself to all 
 my movements so as not to worry me with his 
 weight. 
 
 " Suddenly I felt him turn in the saddle and 
 look back. Then his firm hand checked me, and 
 I knew that the Gray Mare, my sister, had been 
 more than matched. As I settled down into a 
 steadier gallop the White-haired Master said : — 
 
 " ' Another racehorse here, boy — the greatest 
 of all.' 
 
 " ' Yes, Master,' replied the Son of Ben Ali, 
 ' he is the grandson of Abdallah.' 
 
 " It was well that the White-haired Master 
 drew rein when he did, for we still had two miles 
 to go, and the Gray Mare, my sister, was begin- 
 ning to blow a little. But we rested ourselves by 
 going easily. Presently I saw firelight shining 
 through the trees half a mile ahead. 
 
 " * That 's the place ! ' cried the White-haired 
 Master. 
 
 11 He leaned forward in the saddle, and I took 
 that for a signal to go. It was a level road, and 
 
THE BLACK STALLION'S STORY. 167 
 
 I stretched myself out for a run that would please 
 and surprise the White-haired Master. As I ran 
 I wondered what the people at the fire would 
 think as they heard us thundering down the road. 
 
 " Nobody knows to this day what they thought. 
 We were upon thera before they could gather 
 their wits about them. We were upon them before 
 they could get out of the way. The torches glim- 
 mering through the trees blinded the eyes of the 
 White-haired Master, so that he drew rein a little 
 too late to stop me near the group of men stand- 
 ing there. One of them, the son of the man 
 called Old Grizzly, tried to dodge out of the way, 
 but as he dodged I swerved to one side, and so 
 struck him fairly on the shoulder. He went down 
 as if a tree had fallen on him. As I turned again 
 I caught the arm of one of them in my teeth, 
 and carried him with me, screaming like a woman. 
 From that day to this I have been called the Man- 
 eater ; but as to eating a man — Blibbelibbel — 
 it makes me sick to think of it ! 
 
 " I was still jumping, but trying to come to 
 a halt, when the White-haired Master drove his 
 heels at me, and whirled me around on my hind 
 feet as on a pivot. As I turned I saw why. The 
 
168 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 man called the Teacher had been sitting on a 
 horse, his arms tied, and a rope around his neck, 
 one end fastened to the limb of a tree. As we 
 came up, some of the men had given the horse 
 a cut with a hickory, and he had jumped away, 
 leaving the Teacher swinging by the neck. 
 
 "With one stroke of a knife he carried, the 
 White-haired Master cut the rope, and then he 
 leaped nimbly from my back and lifted the man 
 called the Teacher to his feet, cutting the rope 
 from his arms and from his neck. 
 
 " The man called the Teacher was neither much 
 hurt nor frightened, but he was weak. So he 
 leaned against me as I stood panting for breath. 
 There the White-haired Master left him and 
 turned his attention to the men who were stand- 
 ing around. He called them murderers and as- 
 sassins and cowards, but they made little or no 
 reply. The Son of Old Grizzly, who was rubbing 
 his shoulder, made some kind of excuse. He said 
 he thought anybody had a right to hang anybody 
 else who was trying to make the negroes rise and 
 kill their masters. 
 
 " But the man called the Teacher hit the saddle 
 he was leaning against so hard with his fist that 
 
THE WHITE-HAIRED MASTER CUT THE ROPE 
 
THE BLACK STALLION'S STORY. 169 
 
 it made me jump, and said it was a lie. He de- 
 clared that he had told the negroes to he patient, 
 that thousands of good people were praying for 
 them, and that the time would come when they 
 would he free. 
 
 " ' What do I care what he told the negroes ? ' 
 cried the White-haired Master, turning upon the 
 men. ' Don't you know, you cowardly wretches, 
 that I will protect whoever lives under my roof 
 with my life ? Take yourselves off, and be glad 
 that you have escaped so lightly. I know all of 
 you, and I '11 have an eye on you hereafter.' So 
 said the White-haired Master ; and the men, mak- 
 ing what excuses they could think of, slunk away 
 to where they had left their horses tied. 
 
 " Seeing the Gray Mare, my sister, standing 
 near, I looked around for the Son of Ben Ali, but 
 he was nowhere to be seen. I knew he was not 
 far off. He was waiting till the men should get 
 out of sight. Then he came forth from the 
 bushes, and in the dark, hf ted the man called 
 the Teacher to the back of the Gray Mare, my 
 sister. 
 
 "And so we went back home, going slowly, 
 the man called the Teacher riding the Gray Mare, 
 
170 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 my sister, arid the Son of Ben Ali walking along- 
 side to hold him in place should his strength fail. 
 
 " That is all. I saw no more of the Son of Ben 
 Ali until after the big fire." 
 
 " When the house was burned ? " asked Buster 
 John. 
 
 "The big house — yes," replied the Black 
 Stallion. 
 
 " That was the time you broke down your 
 stable door," suggested Aaron, who was working 
 away inside the stable. 
 
 " And came near catching the son of Old 
 Grizzly, as he went over the fence," said the 
 Black Stallion. 
 
 " Mr. George Gossett?" exclaimed Buster John. 
 " Why, he 's an old man." 
 
 " He 's older than he 's good," remarked 
 Aaron. 
 
 " I heard a great noise," said the Black Stal- 
 lion — "the cows asking the mules what the 
 trouble was, the mules asking the horses, and the 
 geese screaming and flying about — and so I 
 broke down my stable door. Just then I saw 
 some one running through the field away from 
 the house, and I tried to catch him. He was too 
 
THE BLACK STALLION'S STORY. 171 
 
 near the fence, but I saw it was the son of Old 
 Grizzly." 
 
 " Why was he running through the field ? " 
 inquired Buster John. 
 
 " Well," said Aaron, " there was a fire burning 
 the house, and there was this George Gossett 
 running away. You can put the two together, if 
 you want to, or you can leave them just as the 
 Grandson of Abdallah saw them — one burning 
 the house and the other running away." 
 
 " Huh ! he sot dat house afire ! " exclaimed 
 Drusilla ; " kaze I hear my mammy an' ol' Aunt 
 Free Polly sesso." 
 
 All this made Sweetest Susan open her eyes in 
 amazement, and they were very bright and beau- 
 tiful eyes. 
 
 " Oh, how could he be so cruel?" she cried. 
 
 " He thought the White-haired Master rode 
 him down that night on purpose," said Aaron, 
 " and he had a good many other thoughts." 
 
 The Black Stallion galloped to another part of 
 the field, and Aaron said it was time for the chil- 
 dren to go to the house and fix for dinner. So 
 they went running along. 
 
XL 
 
 free polly's stoey. 
 
 It was not long before the children had an 
 appointment to see Free Polly. She had chosen 
 their father for her guardian, and was in the 
 habit of visiting the plantation very often, some- 
 times staying there for weeks at a time. 
 
 Free Polly was sixty years old, but very frisky 
 and fond of fun — always ready to listen to a 
 joke or tell a story. All her stories were older 
 than she was, but she never told one without laugh- 
 ing at it just as heartily as if she had heard it for 
 the first time. She bowed her head from side to 
 side in jaunty fashion, and laughed loudly. The 
 children laughed, too, for she made a very comical 
 appearance. She had on a yellow basque with 
 flowing sleeves, and a blue skirt. On her head 
 she wore a flaming red bandana, and on top of 
 that a bonnet shaped like a sugar scoop and 
 stuffed full of faded artificial flowers. At sixty 
 years old Free Polly still considered herself a 
 
FREE POLLY'S STORY. 173 
 
 belle, and put on a great many airs. Whenever 
 she met anybody, black or white, she always 
 bowed her head, first to the left, then to the 
 right, and made a low curtsy. This she did now 
 when the children called her. She bowed and 
 curtsied, and then placed her arms akimbo, and 
 waited for the youngsters to come up. 
 
 " Oh, I so glad to see you," she cried, " I can't 
 tell you how glad I is. You mos' done grown. 
 'Fo' I know it you '11 be done grown an' married. 
 Hey-hey! You nee'n ter laugh. I done see 
 young people 'fo' I see you. Dey mos' all do dat 
 away." 
 
 " Aunt Polly," said Buster John, " do you re- 
 member the night the big house burned ? " 
 
 Free Polly ceased laughing and screwed up her 
 mouth and face in pretended, indignation. 
 
 " How I gwine ter fergit it ? Wa'n't I right 
 dar in de house ? Right un' de roofness ? " 
 
 " Won't you please tell us about it ? " asked 
 Sweetest Susan, with her pretty, coaxing smile. 
 
 Free Polly shook her head solemnly, closed her 
 eyes, and heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 " How kin I tell you stan'in' up here flat-footed 
 in de sun ? Wait. I comin' in de house atter 
 
174 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 supper to see Mistiss. When you see me in dar, 
 run an' ax me to come' in yo' room 'fo' I go. But 
 when I go in dar I mus' fin' sump'n else 'sides a 
 cheer, an' a table, an' a bedstid, an' a washstan'." 
 
 " What do you want to find ? " Buster John 
 inquired. 
 
 Again Free Polly closed her eyes and sighed, 
 as she answered : — 
 
 " What I want to fin' ? Biscuit. Battercakes. 
 Butter. Ham." At each word Free Polly 
 smacked her lips and opened her mouth wide. 
 The children laughed, and promised that they 
 would carry as much food into the nursery as 
 they could make an excuse for. 
 
 At supper their mother saw them buttering 
 more biscuits than they usually ate. So she sud- 
 denly asked : — 
 
 " Has any one seen Free Polly to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes 'm," promptly replied Drusilla, who was 
 waiting on Buster John and Sweetest Susan. 
 
 " Is she coming here to-night ? " 
 
 "I — I speck so," Drusilla answered somewhat 
 doubtfully. 
 
 At this the mother looked at the children and 
 laughed. 
 
FREE POLLY'S STORY. 175 
 
 " Mamma, how did you know ? " cried Sweetest 
 Susan. 
 
 "Because she used to come to see me when I 
 was a little girl, and I always had to carry biscuits 
 and ham to my room, if I wanted her to tell me a 
 tale. Drusilla, put those biscuits and three slices 
 of ham on a plate, and carry it to the nursery." 
 
 Naturally the children were delighted at the 
 way their mother fell into their innocent little 
 plans, and they waited with a good deal of impa- 
 tience for Free Polly to come. She came after 
 what seemed to be a very long while. She was 
 even more comically polite in the house than she 
 was out of doors, and pretended to have a good 
 deal to say to the " Mistiss ; " but the lady said 
 she was busy at that moment, and told Free Polly 
 to go into the nursery and see the children. 
 
 Thus it came about that Buster John and 
 Sweetest Susan heard all the particulars of the 
 burning of the big house, told in a style that was 
 to them the most graphic and complete that could 
 be imagined. 
 
 After eating the supper that had been brought 
 in for her, Free Polly wiped her mouth with the 
 back of her hands, placed her heels on the top 
 
176 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 round of the chair she sat in, and clasped her 
 knees with her long arms. Then closing her eyes, 
 she began : 
 
 " I dunner how come it, but when de sun shine 
 it look like a long time ago when de house burn. 
 When night come, it look like it done happen 
 yistiddy. It so come 'bout dat I hatter come see 
 ol' Marster dat ve'y night. I start from de place 
 whar I been workin' time de sun go down, an' 
 when I come to turn in de big gate up yander, 
 twuz gittin dark. I raise de latch er de big gate, 
 I did, an' den I say ter myse'f, ' No, I won't go 
 de front way, kaze dey might be comp'ny in de 
 front peazzer, an' I '11 go roun' de back way an' 
 come in by de nigger quarter.' I had my min' 
 on dat ar man what dey like ter hang — dat ar 
 Mr. Hudspy "— 
 
 " Hudspeth," said Buster John. 
 
 " Kaze he gimme a sev'm-punce one time, an' 
 I wuz mighty sorry he had to go back home. I 
 walk 'long, I did, an' I 'low I mighty sorry dat ar 
 Mr. Hudspy ain't here now, kaze he might fergit 
 hissif an' gimme a n'er sev'm-punce.' Des 'bout 
 dat time I look up an' look 'round, an' right at me 
 wuz a man. I could 'a' put out my han' an' totch 
 
FREE POLLY'S STORY. 177 
 
 him. Ef he 'd 'a' said ' Boo ! ' at me, I 'd 'a' drapt 
 right in my tracks. But I bowed, I did, an' drapt 
 him a curtsy, an' ax'd him howdy. 
 
 "He say, 'Ain't dat Free Polly?' I say, 
 ' Yasser.' I hnow'd time he open his mouth dat 
 't'wan't nobody in de roun' worl' but dat ar George 
 Gossett. 
 
 " He say, ' I got a crow to pick wid you.' I 
 say, ' How come dat, suh ? ' 
 
 " He say, ' You been harborin' runaway nig- 
 gers.' I say, ' I don't see how I kin do dat, suh, 
 when it's e'enabout all I kin do fer ter harbor 
 myse'f, let 'lone runaway niggers.' 
 
 " He say, ' I hear tell you es des han' in glove 
 wid dat ar nigger A'on what Pap bought fum de 
 speculator.' I say, ' Ef A'on ever is been at my 
 house, suh, it wuz unbeknownst to me.' 
 
 "He say, 'Nummine. I'll git you yit; an' 
 when I does, hit '11 be all night Isom dar wid you.' 
 I say, ' Yasser,' and den I bowed perlite ez I know 
 how, an' come on to de big house. 
 
 "I ain't been here long, 'fo' dey tell me dat 
 de Little Marster — which dey call him Little 
 Crotchet — is sorter ailin', an' I say ter myse'f dat 
 I '11 go up sta'rs dar whar he stay at, an' see him. 
 
178 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 So, atter while, up I goes, an' sho' nuff, dar wuz 
 de Little Marster layin' up dar readin'. 
 
 " He put down his book, he did, an' look like 
 he mighty glad ter see me, an' he ax me what 
 good f er deze here long-time pains in de legs ; an' 
 I say I dunno, 'cep'n you have somebody to rub 
 'em. He ax me ef I won't rub 'em ; an' I say 
 tooby-shore I will, an' glad to do it, an' den I 
 whirled in an' rub 'em ; an' whiles I 'm a-rubbin' 
 he ax me de names er all de presidencies er de 
 Nunitin' States whar we live at, an' I say ef I 
 ever know'd 'em I done fergitted 'em off' en my 
 min'. Desso. 
 
 " An' den, bless yo' souls, he lay dar flat er his 
 back, an' call off de names er all de presidencies 
 er de Nunitin' States same ez ef he had 'em right 
 dar in a book, an' den when he done dat he tol' 
 me all 'bout John Henry Bonaparte an' Mr. Ben- 
 jamin Arnold, which he traded off his country 
 fer a pa'r er shiny boots an' a cocked hat." 
 
 Buster John and Sweetest Susan laughed heart- 
 ily at this, and Free Polly laughed in sympathy. 
 
 " Yes, honey, he lay dar flat er his back ah' 
 tol' me all de news. I dunner how long I sot 
 dar, rubbin' an' noddin', an' lis'nin' ter de Little 
 
FREE POLLY'S STORY. 179 
 
 Marster, tellin' me all 'bout how de Nunitin' State 
 of Americus, Georgy, come up, an' how he wuz 
 skeer'd she wuz gwine down agin ef de folks up 
 dar whar dey make laws did 'n' stop scandalizin' 
 an' gwine on. I speck both un us must er drapt 
 off ter sleep, kaze when I waked up, de candle 
 had done burnted mos' down. Bimeby de Little 
 Marster say, ' Polly Ann ' — he call me Polly Ann 
 f er short — ' Polly Ann, I smell smoke. What 
 does you smell ? ' 
 
 " I say, ' I smells smoke, too. I speck some- 
 body burnin' off a new groun'.' 
 
 " He say, ' Polly Ann, dis ain't de time er de 
 year when dey burns off de new groun'.' 
 
 " I say, ' Maybe somebody possum huntin' 
 drapt der torch an' sot fire to de woods.' 
 
 " He say, ' Polly Ann, dis ain't de time er de 
 year when dey hunts possums.' 
 
 " I say, ' I dunner how come it den.' 
 
 "He say, 'All de same, Polly Ann, I smells 
 smoke.' 
 
 "I say, 'Dat what Brer Fox say when Brer 
 Rabbit put fire ter de hay what he totin' on his 
 back.' 
 
 "De Little Marster say, 'Polly Ann, maybe 
 
180 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 somebody done put fire ter de hay what we got on 
 our backs.' 
 
 " I say, ' I ain't skeer'd er dat.' 
 
 " Dis make him laugh. He say, ' Polly Ann, 
 folks don't hafter be skeer'd ter git burnted up.' " 
 
 At this point Free Polly suddenly became very 
 solemn. A heavy frown appeared on her face. 
 Her voice fell to a tragic whisper. She placed 
 one hand lightly on Sweetest Susan's shoulder 
 and held the other to a gesture of warning, look- 
 ing all around the room as if expecting to discover 
 the beginning or the ending of some horrible 
 catastrophe. 
 
 "Right dar an den," she said, "I not only 
 smelt de smoke, I seed it. Seed it wid my own 
 eyes. Yes, honey ! A little streak un it, not 
 much bigger dan a pipestem, come curlin' up 
 by de candle an' went dancin' up ter de ceilin'. 
 Den' way off yander, I hear somebody holler. 
 Den somebody holler'd mo' closer. Den de cows 
 'gun ter low, an' de hosses ter whicker. 
 
 " I say ter myse'f, ' Nigger 'oman, you better 
 keep yo' eye peeled, kaze sump'n n'er gwine on, 
 an' 'tain't so mighty fur fum here, needer.' Den 
 I hear somebody holler right out in de lot dar. 
 
FREE POLLY'S STORY. 181 
 
 " De Little Marster say, ' Polly Ann, I tell you 
 I smells smoke. Hit 's right off 'n de fire.' 
 
 " I say, ' I b'lieve you, honey.' 
 
 " By dis time, de fuss outside wuz gittin' wuss 
 an' wuss, an' I could hear somep'n cracklin' like 
 somebody walkin' thoo a patch er ragweed in de 
 winter time. It look like de little candle got mo' 
 paler, an' den it seem like I could see shadders 
 dancin' on de wall. Den I happen to look up at 
 de window, an', man, suh, de whole place wuz lit 
 up. 
 
 " I say, ' Hey ! ef de sun done riz up in de 
 night, she shinin' mighty red.' De smoke keep 
 on curlin' up an' curlin' up. It cum thoo de crack 
 er de flo'. 
 
 " De Little Marster say, 'De smoke smell so bad, 
 I got ter put my head un' de cover.' 
 
 " I say to myse'f, ' Look a-here, nigger 'oman, 
 you better be up an' gwine, kaze when you see de 
 smoke comin' up thoo de floor ybu better watch 
 out.' " 
 
 " I 'd 'a' gone down dem stairsteps faster 'n I 
 come up," exclaimed Drusilla. 
 
 "Ef you had," said Free Polly, scornfully, 
 " you 'd 'a' never gone down any yuther steps — 
 
182 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 an' dat would 'a' been des like a nigger fer de 
 worl'. I ain't run down no steps. I des sot dar 
 an' sorter pat de Little Marster on de leg fer ter 
 keep him comp'ny, an' de smoke kep' on comin' 
 wusser an' wusser. I say to myse'f, ' Watch out, 
 nigger 'oman ! Watch out ! ' 
 
 " Den I 'gun to strangle, an' I went ter de 
 window, an' des 'bout dat time I hear mo' squallin' 
 an' fussin' dan I ever been hear befo', an' time I 
 got ter de window somebody smash it in, an' I des 
 give one big squeal an' drapt on de flo'. 
 
 " Now, dat ar somebody wuz A'on. He clum 
 de tree, he did, an' smash in de window, an' he 
 wrop de Little Marster in de quilts an' coverleds 
 what he had on him, an' toted him down de tree 
 on one arm, an' den he come back an' toted me. 
 
 " When we got down, dar wuz a big crowd 
 stannin' 'round, an' ol' Marster wuz a-cryin', an' 
 A'on put me down an' went up in de crowd, an' 
 when he got dar he fell down like he wuz dead. 
 When he smash in de window, de glass cut him 
 in de arm an' in de face an' he wuz bloodier dan 
 a stuck pig. So dar he wuz, an' dar he lay. He 
 des shet his eyes an' fell back like he done dead. 
 
 " Yes, honey ! dar he wuz right in de middle 
 
AARON TOTED HIM DOWN DE TREE 
 
FREE POLLY'S STORY. 183 
 
 of a big crowd. All de niggers wuz dar f am five 
 mile 'roun', an' mighty nigh all de white folks 
 wuz dar. 01' Mr. Gossett wuz dar wid his eyelids 
 red, an' lookin' like dey been turn wrongsudout- 
 'ards. He walk up, he did, an' 'low — 
 
 " ' Aha ! If I ain't mighty much mistaken, 
 dat 's my nigger, A' on. A' on, 'git up fum' dar, 
 you gran' rascal.' 
 
 " But A'on ain't move. He des lay dar like he 
 dead. 01' Mr. Gossett knelt down by 'im, an' 
 put his han' on him, an' felt 'im like de doctors 
 does. Den he riz up an' look at A'on long time, 
 an' den he shuck his head. He shuck his head, 
 an' turn roun' an' holler to 01' Marster : — 
 
 " ' Jedge, once 'pon a time I hear you say you 
 want to buy dis nigger. What '11 you gimme fer 
 'im des ez he is ? ' 
 
 " < Twelve hundred dollars ! ' 01' Marster hol- 
 ler'd back. He talk short an' sharp, like he talkin' 
 to a fiel' han'. 
 
 " 01' Mr. Gossett holler back, < Done ! ' 
 
 " Den 01' Marster, bidout movin' in his tracks, 
 tuck a long book out er his side pocket, an' pulled 
 out five bills an' sont um to Mr. Gossett by one 
 er de niggers. 
 
184 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " He say, ' Dat 's a hunderd fer ter make de 
 trade bindin'. Meet me in town ter-morrer, an' 
 I '11 pay you de rest.' 
 
 " 01' Mr. Gossett say, ' But, Jedge, s'posin' de 
 nigger is dead now ? ' 
 
 " 01' Marster snap 'im short off : ' A trade 's a 
 trade. You stan' by yone, an' I '11 stan' by mine.' 
 
 " Mr. Gossett say, ' Oh, I '11 stan' by mine, Jedge. 
 De nigger is yone, 'live or dead.' 
 
 "It look like ter me," continued Tree Polly, 
 shifting her position and talking in a less solemn 
 tone, " dat A' on must 'a' been playin' possum. 
 Kaze time he hear ol' Mr. Gossett say dat, he 
 open his eyes an' riz up fum whar he wuz layin' at. 
 He walk sorter weak, but he wa'n't hurted much. 
 He got up an' went whar dey had de Little Mars- 
 ter, an' fum dat time on, de two stuck mighty 
 close by one anudder. Whar you'd see one, 
 you 'd be mighty apt to see de udder. It was dat 
 away all de time, fum Monday mornin' twell Sat'- 
 day night. 
 
 " De Little Marster 'gun ter git well an' strong. 
 Some say he grow'd an' got fatter. I can't tell 
 you 'bout dat. He allers look mighty pale an' 
 puny ter me, but dey ain't no 'sputin' dat he got 
 
DE SQUINCH OWL LIGHTED ON A ON S HAND 
 
FREE POLLY'S STORY. 185 
 
 'roun' on his crutches mo' soopler. He wuz ez 
 nimble on dem crutches ez a game rooster is on 
 his legs. 
 
 " 'T wa'n't long atter dat 'fo' de niggers on de 
 place wuz all fear'd er A'on. Dey seed all de 
 creeturs a-follerin' 'im 'bout, an' dey got it spread 
 'roun' dat he wuz a cunjer-man, one er deze yer 
 hoodoo folks what puts spells on you. Den dey 
 got it spread 'roun' dat he want no nigger, haze 
 he don't do like niggers. I did n't blame 'em 
 much fer bein' skeer'd, kaze one day, des atter 
 sundown, I happen to see A'on lookin' up in de 
 big pine out dar in de lot. I hear a squinch owl 
 holler, an' den I hear A'on say sump'n. Time he 
 do dat I see de squinch owl drap fum de top er 
 de pine an' light right on A'on's han'. De bird 
 sot dar, he did, an' pop his bill like a waggin whip, 
 an' den he up an' flew'd away. He come right by 
 my head, an' it 's Lord's trufe, he ain't make no 
 mo' fuss dan a fedder floatin' on de win'. 
 
 " I wuz sorter skeer'd, but I walk right up to 
 A'on an' say, ' Man, who is you, an' what is you ? ' 
 
 " He turns 'roun' an' say, ' De Son of Ben Ah.' 
 (Xs " I say, ' Thanky. I know mos' ez much now 
 ez I did befo'.' 
 
186 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " Den he say, ' Le' me show you.' Wid dat he 
 holler, an' de Mack hoss answer him. He holler 
 agin, an' de gray mar' whicker. He holler once 
 mo', an' de pony come a runnin' an' a whinnyin'. 
 
 "I say, 'Man, le' me go 'way firm here. I 
 done hear talk er Ben Ah long 'fo' I seed you.' " 
 
XII. 
 
 THE ARMY MARCHES BY. 
 
 It was not long before the children saw another 
 sight on that plantation. They forgot all about 
 Mr. Thimblefinger and Mrs. Meadows and Mr. 
 Rabbit. They forgot to talk to the animals. The 
 war had been under way for some time, and one 
 rainy day in November word came that two soldiers 
 in blue had been seen riding along the road at a 
 gallop. That was early in the morning. By noon 
 the plantation fairly swarmed with the foragers 
 in blue. The Union army was on its way from 
 Atlanta to the sea. 
 
 Standing at the window and looking through 
 the mist and rain, Buster John and Sweetest 
 Susan could see the foraging parties running 
 about collecting the cows and calves, the horses 
 and the mules, and presently they saw the same 
 men in blue driving the stock out through the 
 avenue and into the public road. Sweetest Susan 
 cried when she saw the old Gray Pony ambling 
 
188 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 along with the rest, but Buster John never thought 
 about the Pony at all. He was watching to see 
 the Black Stallion pass by, and wondering how 
 the men would manage him. 
 
 The children also saw many of the negroes 
 following the soldiers off. They saw Aaron 
 dressed in his Sunday best, and they wondered 
 whether he was going with the rest. But after 
 awhile they heard Aaron talking to their grand- 
 father in the next room. They heard him say 
 that he had tried to hide the horses and mules in 
 the swamp, but some of the negroes had carried 
 the foragers in blue to the hiding-place. They 
 heard Aaron say that he had carried Timoleon to 
 another part of the plantation, and that the old 
 horse was not likely to be found. They heard 
 their grandfather tell Aaron that he was now free 
 to go where he might — that he was no longer a 
 slave. To which Aaron replied that if he was 
 free to go or stay, he would stay. 
 
 A little later the children, still standing at the 
 window, or near it, heard a great clatter of hoofs 
 in the avenue, mingled with the lowing of cattle, 
 the neighing of horses, and the shouts and yells of 
 drivers. At first Buster John and Sweetest Susan, 
 
TWO SOLDIERS RODE ALONG 
 
THE ARMY MARCHES BY. 189 
 
 looking through the mist, could see nothing but a 
 dense and moving mass of animals and men. But 
 in a few moments they were surprised to see that 
 the foragers in blue were bringing back the 
 horses and cattle they had driven off. There was 
 the old pony, ambling back to the lot ; there were 
 the carriage horses ; and there were the milk cows 
 and dry cattle. Accompanying the foragers, who 
 were on foot, were two or three mounted men, 
 and one of these wore a sword and was giving 
 orders. 
 
 The grandfather, attracted by the children's 
 cries of surprise, had come to the window, and he 
 stood there gazing at the spectacle in a bewildered 
 way. It was more surprising to him than it was 
 to the children. He could make nothing of it. 
 He could only rub his eyes and look. Here were 
 his horses, his mules, and his cattle coming back 
 in a hurry, driven by the soldiers in blue. He 
 went to the rear porch to see what would be done 
 with the stock, and there, to his further surprise, 
 he saw a soldier on guard. The soldier saluted 
 the white-haired old man with the utmost defer- 
 ence, standing at " present arms " until the gentle- 
 man, somewhat rusty in military etiquette, had 
 
190 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 returned the salute. Then the soldier resumed 
 his march back and forth. 
 
 Looking across to the lot, the old gentleman 
 saw Aaron showing the foragers where to put the 
 horses, the mules, and the cows, and with Aaron 
 were two or three negroes who had refused to go 
 off with the rest. 
 
 " What is the trouble here ? " the old gentle- 
 man asked the soldier. " Are we prisoners ? " 
 
 " No, sir," replied the soldier, laughing ; " we 
 are here to protect this house from the foragers 
 and stragglers. I was thinkin' may be you 're 
 some close kin to Uncle Cump." 
 
 " Uncle who ? " 
 
 " Uncle Cump, Cump — Tecump. We march 
 by that name." 
 
 The white-haired gentleman, regarding this as 
 a soldier's joke, went into the house. The chil- 
 dren, still at the window, called attention to a 
 soldier marching back and forth. Going on the 
 front piazza, he saw a soldier marching on that 
 side, and but for the garden fence doubtless there 
 would have been a fourth soldier marching behind 
 the kitchen. 
 
 Later in the afternoon a squad of riders came 
 
THE ARMY MARCHES BY. 191 
 
 galloping down the avenue. They drew up their 
 horses at the yard gate, and one of them alighted, 
 throwing his reins to one of the others. The 
 children ran into the front parlor and peeped 
 through the curtains. The soldier who had come 
 into the yard had neither gun nor sword. He 
 wore a heavy overcoat, and his spurs rattled as he 
 stamped the mud and water from his boots. He 
 removed his overcoat, lifted the knocker on the 
 door and ' let it fall twice, and then walked back 
 and forth on the piazza, with a quick, nervous 
 step. He seemed to be restless and impatient. 
 
 The children's grandfather went to the door 
 and threw it open. The soldier lifted his hat 
 with a gesture that was more familiar than defer- 
 ential. 
 
 " Come in, sir," said the grandfather. " We do 
 not keep the door closed even on our enemies." 
 
 "I am here," remarked the soldier, curtly, 
 " because I have a message for this house." 
 
 He had a quick, nervous way of talking, and 
 his eyes ran from the carpet on the floor to the 
 pictures on the wall. One of these pictures was 
 the portrait of a little boy, pale and wan, and the 
 top of a crutch peeped from behind his shoulder. 
 
192 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 On this portrait the eyes of the soldier lingered, 
 and he turned to it with a quick gesture. The 
 children's grandfather stood watching him. The 
 old gentleman's attitude was stiff and formal, and 
 there was an expression of resentment on his 
 face, for he recognized that the commander, the 
 General of the Army of invasion, stood before 
 him. 
 
 As for the soldier, his stiff red beard bristled, 
 the lines in his weather-beaten face deepened, and 
 his eyes sparkled. If he had noticed the attitude 
 or expression of the other he ignored it. 
 
 " That is Little Crotchet," he said, brusquely. 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 The face of the children's grandfather softened 
 and his whole attitude changed. 
 
 " Little Crotchet is not here now," he replied. 
 He turned and walked to the window, which 
 seemed to be blurred by the mist and the rain 
 blown against it by the east wind. 
 
 The commander took a quick step forward and 
 placed his hand gently on the grandfather's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " I am sorry," he said. " I have a message for 
 Little Crotchet." 
 
/ vs. 
 I 
 
 HIS EYES LINGERED ON THE PORTRAIT 
 
THE ARMY MARCHES BY. 193 
 
 " If my son had lived," remarked the children's 
 grandfather, by way of explanation, " he would be 
 a grown man. As it is, he is still a little boy." 
 
 " That is curious, too," said the commander. 
 " Since I heard of him, I have always thought of 
 him as a little bit of a chap. Something like 
 that." He turned to the portrait on the wall 
 almost impatiently. 
 
 "I am forgetting myself," said the children's 
 grandfather, holding out his hand, which the 
 soldier seized and pressed in his quick, nervous 
 way. " Sit in this rocking-chair near the hearth 
 and dry yourself. You and I are old acquaint- 
 ances. Years ago you passed through this part 
 of the country on horseback, and stopped here 
 over night." 
 
 " That is so," replied the commander. " I was 
 just beginning the business of life. You had 
 already begun it." 
 
 " To some extent. I was ahead of you, then, 
 just as you have now outstripped me in the busi- 
 ness of dealing out death and destruction." 
 
 The commander rose from his chair quick as a 
 flash, and again placed his hand on the old gen- 
 tleman's shoulder. 
 
194 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 "My dear sir," he said, "this is war, and war 
 is the most serious business that men can engage 
 in." 
 
 He resumed his seat as suddenly as he had left 
 it, throwing one leg across the other with an easy 
 familiarity that was not at all displeasing to the 
 elder man. 
 
 " You would think war was my business," re- 
 marked the commander, after a pause, during 
 which his keen, restless eyes tried to solve the 
 mysteries of the glowing coals ; " but it is not. 
 I am a school teacher. I had rather be yonder 
 in Mississippi, training my college boys, than 
 to be leading this army. But war is the price 
 of union and peace, and here I am. Where is 
 Aaron?" 
 
 " Aaron ? " The question was so sudden and 
 unexpected that the children's grandfather was 
 taken by surprise. 
 
 " Was n't that the name of some queer negro 
 you owned?" 
 
 " Certainly. I will call him," replied the grand- 
 father. 
 
 At that moment there was a rap at the door, 
 and Aaron opened it. He bowed as he saw the 
 
THE ARMY MARCHES BY. 195 
 
 uniformed and booted stranger, and then pro- 
 ceeded to make his report. He told his master 
 that all the horses, mules, and cattle had been 
 brought back, and some more besides. He stood, 
 half smiling, in an easy and yet an expectant 
 attitude. 
 
 " This is Aaron," said the commander. " I 
 must take him by the hand." He stepped across 
 the floor with arm extended and clasped Aaron's 
 hand in his. " You are a good man, Aaron," he 
 remarked, "a good man. I want to read you 
 something." 
 
 The commander fumbled in the breast pocket 
 of his coat and drew forth a huge morocco memo- 
 randum book. From this he took a letter. 
 
 " This," he said, " was sent to me in cipher from 
 the War Department at Washington. I have had 
 it translated and written out. Do you remember 
 a man named Hudspeth ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," said the old gentleman. 
 
 " Mighty well," said Aaron. 
 
 " Well, this man, Kichard Hudspeth, is one of 
 the most influential members of Congress. He is 
 on the Military Committee of the House. Here is 
 what he says : 
 
196 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 " Dear General, — As a member of the Com- 
 mittee on Military Affairs, it has come to my ears 
 that you will before long swing loose from Atlanta 
 and march across Georgia, either to Savannah or 
 Augusta. Should my information be correct, I 
 have a favor to ask of you. It is this : that, so 
 far as is consistent with your duties as a soldier, 
 you will protect the lives and property of the 
 people whom you may find on the Abercrombie 
 place in Middle Georgia. You cannot miss the 
 place. Whether you go to Savannah or Augusta, 
 it will be in your line of march. It is in the 
 very heart of Georgia, and is known far and wide. 
 
 " I am not sure that the people I knew are liv- 
 ing there now ; but I am very sure that I spent 
 some very happy and some very miserable days 
 there. It was in the days of the years of my 
 youth, and I should have been more miserable 
 still but for the kindness of the people on that 
 place. 
 
 " More than that, I owe them my life, which at 
 one time I was on the point of losing at the 
 hands of some of the neighborhood ruffians. 
 Some day when we meet in Washington you shall 
 have the particulars. 
 
THE ARMY MARCHES BY. 197 
 
 " You will find on that place, I trust — though 
 he seemed too frail to five long — a youngster 
 known as Little Crotchet. Say to him that I shall 
 love him tenderly while life lasts. I hope you 
 will also find there the kindly gentleman to whose 
 patience and courtesy I owe many a pleasant hour. 
 I hope, too, you will find Aaron there — Aaron 
 the fugitive, who was and who remains a mystery. 
 
 " For the sake of these people and for the sake 
 of old times, I venture to ask you to surround the 
 place with such protection as may be consistent 
 with duties which at this distance I can only have 
 a vague conception of. 
 
 " Meanwhile, the few of us who have had hints 
 of the adventure you are about to undertake are 
 trembling with fear and hope. We confide in 
 your genius, but we should be happier if we had 
 already heard from you at the end of your jour- 
 ney. Faithfully yours, 
 
 " Kichakd Hudspeth." 
 
 The children's grandfather gazed steadily in 
 the fire without moving. The commander placed 
 the letter in his pocket, and rose from his chair, 
 pushing it away from him impatiently. 
 
198 THE STORY OF AARON. 
 
 u And this is Aaron ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Aaron. 
 
 ''Well, Aaron, I want to shake your hand 
 again." 
 
 Aaron took the proffered hand and bowed his 
 head over it, as if giving silent utterance to a 
 prayer. The commander gave his hand to the 
 White-haired Master, passed out upon the ve- 
 randa, and so to where he had left his orderlies. 
 He leaped into the saddle, turned and waved an 
 adieu, and then the small cavalcade went clatter- 
 ing up the avenue. 
 
 Somewhere in the distance Buster John and 
 Sweetest Susan heard a band playing a sweet 
 tune, and so War passed out of their sight — 
 passed out of their sight, let us hope, forever. 
 But it should be recorded here that the spectacle 
 of these slow-moving files of armed men, this 
 vast procession of cavalry and artillery, with all 
 their lumbering accompaniments, was far more 
 amazing to these children than anything they had 
 seen and heard in Mr. Thimblefinger's queer 
 country, or than any of their experience with the 
 Son of Ben Ali. 
 
Ji'SM 
 
 \