"That makes three hundred and fifty," he said to himself. "I know he
can't raise that amount of ready money, and as he is too infernal proud
to be sued, I'm sure of Rocket or Lulu, it matters but little which,"
and with a look upon his face which made it positively hideous, the
scheming Harney closed his books, and sat down to calculate the best
means of managing the rather unmanageable Hugh!
It was dark when 'Lina reached home, but the silk looked well by
firelight, better even than in the light of day, and 'Lina would have
been quite happy but for her mother's reproaches and an occasional
twinge as she wondered what Hugh would say. He had not yet returned, and
numerous were Mrs. Worthington's surmises as to what was keeping him so
late. A glance backward for an hour or so will let us into the secret.
It was the day when a number of negroes were to be sold in the
courthouse. There was no trouble in disposing of them all, save one, a
white-haired old man, whom they called Uncle Sam.
With tottering steps the old man took his place, while his dim eyes
wandered wistfully over the faces around him congregated, as if seeking
for their owner. But none was found who cared for Uncle Sam.
"Won't nobody bid for Sam? I fetched a thousan' dollars onct," and the
feeble voice trembled as it asked this question.
"What will become of him if he is not sold?" Hugh asked of a bystander,
who replied, "Go back to the old place to be kicked and cuffed by the
minions of the new proprietor, Harney. You know Harney, of Frankfort?"
Yes, Hugh did know Harney as one who was constantly adding to his
already large possessions houses and lands and negroes without limit,
caring little that they came to him laden with the widow's curse and the
orphan's tears. This was Harney, and Hugh always felt exasperated
whenever he thought of him. Advancing a step or two he came nearer to
the negro, who took comfort at once from the expression of his face, and
stretching out his shaking hand he said, beseechingly: "You, mas'r, you buy old Sam, 'case it 'ill be lonesome and cold in de
cabin at home when they all is gone. Please, mas'r."
"What can you do?" was Hugh's query, to which the truthful negro
answered: "Nothin' much, 'cept to set in the chimbly corner eatin' corn bread and
bacon--or, yes," and an expression of reverence and awe stole over the
wrinkled face, as in a low tone he added, "I can pray for young mas'r,
and I will, only buy me, please."
Hugh had not much faith in praying negroes, but something in old Sam
struck him as sincere. His prayers might do good, and be needed
somebody's, sadly. But what should he offer, when fifteen dollars was
all he had in the world, and was it his duty to encumber himself with a
piece of useless property? Visions of the Golden Haired and Adah both
arose up before him. They would say it was right. They would tell him to
buy old Sam, and that settled the point with him.