The story of Aaron (so named)

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The Baldwin Library





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Wills:

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Books bp Joel Chandler Harris. |

NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS. Illus-
trated. r12mo, $1.50; paper, 50 cents.

MINGO, AND OTHER SKETCHES IN BLACK
AND WHITE. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.

BALAAM AND HIS MASTER, AND OTHER
SKETCHES. 16mo, $1.25.

UNCLE REMUS AND HIS FRIENDS. Illus-
trated. 12mo0, $1.50.

LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER AND HIS
QUEER COUNTRY. Illustrated. Square 8vo,
$2.00.

MR. RABBIT AT HOME. A Sequel to Little
Mr. Thimblefinger and his Queer Country.
Illustrated. Square 8vo, $2.00.

THE STORY OF AARON, SO-NAMED, THE
SON OF BEN ALI. A Sequel to Mr. Rabbit
at Home and Little Mr. Thimblefinger. Square
8vo, $2.00.

SISTER JANE, HER FRIENDS AND HER
NEIGHBORS. Crown 8vo, $1.50.

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
Boston anD New YorK.







7]



DRUSILLA FELL ON THE GROUND IN A HEAP (Page 23)



The Story of Aaron

(SO NAMED)
Che Son of Wen Ali

TOLD BY AIS FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES

BY

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

“

AUTHOR OF “‘ UNCLE REMUS,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY OLIVER HERFORD



BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
Che Witergide press, Cambridge
1896



Copyright, 1895,
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.

Copyright, 1896,
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.

All rights reserved.

The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co.



CONTENTS.

. THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS.
Il.
III.
IV.
. RAMBLER, THE TrRAcK DoG, BEGINS HIS STORY

VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
. Tae Brack STALLIoN’s Story
XI.
XII.

A RE on THE BLAck STALLION
GRISTLE, THE GRAY PONY, BEGINS HIS STORY
GRISTLE, THE GRAY PONY, CONCLUDES HIS STORY

A Roun tHrRovew THE Woops
RAMBLER, THE TrRAcKk Doc, concLUDES HIS STORY
GRUNTER, THE Wuire Pic

THe Wuire Pie’s Story

FrrEE Potiy’s Story

Tor ARMY MARCHES BY

PAGE

19
34
52
69
86
103
120
137
155
172
187



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

DRusitLA FELL ON THE GROUND IN A HEAP . Frontispiece.
BustrEr JOHN WENT FORWARD AND KNOCKED . 5 : . 6
AARON SHOWING THE Mirror : : : : : : 10
A Riper on THE Buiack STALLION : : . ; : . 26
A Rappit JUMPED UP AT THEIR FEET . : A : 388
THEY CARRIED HIM SOME GREEN CoRN . Fe ‘ A . 42
Tue SLAvE Train. : ; : : ; ; . : 46
Brn ALI HAD FOUND TWO FRIENDS . : : - . o4
A RABBIT DASHED ACROSS THE Roap . 76
. OLp GRIZZLY BROUGHT HIM BACK : : : : : . 82
I was CLOSE TO THE RABBIT . : . : : : : 86
Mammy sAy DEY WUS COURTIN’ . 5 : : : . 90
I LooKED UP AND WHINED : 2 a : : » 104
Youne GRIzzLy BOWED LOW : 5 : 7 ; 5 . 114
Tur WuitE Pig GREW STRONG AND DANGEROUS . . . 122
GRUNTER ASKING THE RED SQuIRRELS FOR Nuts . : . 184
Tue WHITE Pic TELits wis Srory . 2 . : . 140
A Witp Cat WAS WATCHING ME : : : : A . 144
Look on THE HILL YONDER . 7 . : 7 , . 148
Ture Gray MARE LEAPED AWAY FROM ME , : ; . 164
Tue WHITE-HAIRED MAster cut THE Rope. 2 : . 168
AARON TOTED HIM DOWN DE TREE . : . : : . 182
De Squincn Owl LIGHTED on A’on’s Hanp. 5 : . 184
Two SOLDIERS RODE ALONG 5 ; ; ‘ : ‘ . 188

His Eyres LINGERED ON THE PorTRAIT . r : Z . 192



THE STORY OF AARON.

1
THE LANGUAGE OF 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 have 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

29
.

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.
Rabbit, “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 fires 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



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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 1

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
hfted 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. “TLe’ me see; like enough youd weigh
ninety poun’.”

“ Kighty-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? a

“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.

“T 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'll hear lots of sassy talk.
Sometimes, maybe, youll 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 ery : —





AARON SHOWING THE MIRROR



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.
“Wasn'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 finger 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.

“T’ll 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 ?”’

“Tt 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.

“TJ 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 ;
“T know dat mighty well.”

“Tt’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. 18

Aaron nodded. “Manya 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 Ali, 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 Ali 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 Ali 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 Ali, 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—TI 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; “well
go see old Timoleon.”

“ 'Timoleon !”
may.

Aaron laughed and nodded his head. “We’ll
take him out the stable and see what he says.
Timoleon good talker.”

“ Oh, I’m afraid to go!” cried Sweetest Susan.

cried Sweetest Susan, in dis-



16 THE STORY OF AARON.

“ Mamma told me never to go near Timoleon’s
stable.”

“T’ll 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!”

“T’ll set on de fence an’ see de hoss eat ’em
up,” suggested Drusilla, by way of a compromise.

“She ’Il 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, “well bring him out. If he has been
fretting, we ’ll 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 : —

“Run, 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.’

“JT 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 STORY OF AARON.

“ 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, but Drusilla was very serious.

“YT dunno which de wuss,” she cried, “ chickens
er folks.”

After that, te 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.



de
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 Timoleon 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.

“T’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 Ali, what have I done?” cried
Timoleon. “To-day I go hungry because the
corn is on the cob, to-morrow Ill 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 Ali?”

“Two grandchildren of the White haived
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.

“Tt 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
joming him boisterously — almost hysterically.
Drusilla, hearing this, rose to her feet with anger
in her eyes.

“J 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. Ill 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 Ali.”

“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.”

“T 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
Ahi,” 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.

“ Hasy, 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. “TI
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. Ill not run far before you will say, ‘Go
back!’ ”



se none esont eeeon cmemnnenm emamammtm tan



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’ll 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 didn’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
joimed the public road. From that point, turning
squarely to the left, the distance to the avenue
gate was about a mile. From the stable to the
avenue gate, through the spring lot— the way
Aaron went — was not quite half a mile.

“Tf 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 ery
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.

“JT see the children,” said the white-haired
grandfather. “They are safe. They have been
giving Timoleon 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!”
eried 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 youll stick to your
word,” said the grandfather. “TI 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.”

“YT 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.



TT
GRISTLE, THE GRAY PONY, BEGINS HIS STORY.

Tue 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. 85

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.

“Tt 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 wasn’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 didn’t feel able
to give any more.”

“Why wouldn’t Mr. Gossett sell Aaron?”



GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 87

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, grandrather eat
asked Buster J on

“Yes,” replied the old gentleman with a sigh :
“ves, 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 eall 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 wouldn’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 didn’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 didn’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.”

“T 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





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 :
“JT 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.
T 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.
Tt 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.

“J cantered on in this way, up hill and down
hili—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,









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: ‘1’m
not carrying them to jail. They are for sale.’

“¢ Phen 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’ll sell you that buck
at the head of the gang. He’s the finest of
the lot, but Ill sell him cheap. He’s worse
than a tiger.’

“The Little Master urged me forward until



50 THE 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.

“¢T ll 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

“T 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 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.’

“¢T 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.

Tue 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.

“J 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. 538

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 Ali 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
he knew that he had found one friend there.
He had found two friends, for the Little Master
stretched forth his hands, white asa flower, and
touched the Son of Ben Ali on the cheek, where
there was the mark of a wound, saying, ‘ Poor fel-
low! Iam 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 Ali 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 Als 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 Ali paid no at-
tention to him. He had his eyes fixed on the
face of the Little Master, following every move-
ment he made, and always smiling. The Little
Master kept his eyes on the White-haired Master,







BEN ALI HAD FOUND TWO FRIENDS



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'll 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'll 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'll 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. oT

“ “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 Ali 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.

“
“¢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: ‘Hight 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.

“¢QOne 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 : —

“<«T don’t like to be made a fool of. This
negro is yours, sir, for one thousand dollars.’

“This made the people laugh again, but the
Little Master didn’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 bid 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 finger?
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 reims and
bid me stand still.

“No,” said Mr. Gossett, ‘I’d ruther have the
nigger than the money.’

“ 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. J 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. 68

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 asa 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
ved 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 Ahi, 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 Ah
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 Ali sway under

my neck in the most unaccountable manner, and



66 THE STORY OF AARON.

the next moment I saw young Gossett fall ag 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 Ali 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.

“Tn 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, his 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 Ali 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.

“Ts that all?” asked Buster John.

“Tt 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.



V.
RAMBLER, THE TRACK DOG, BEGINS HIS STORY.

Tue 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. Itis all hearsay with me. The Son of Ben
Ali'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, “Ill 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

“JT 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 erying 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.

T 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. If not, no harm is done.’

“
“The answer was: ‘I’Il not be far away.’

“Thad 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.

“T mounted the wagon — But wait! Rambler,
the track dog, is here. He knows what hap-
pened. I will call him.” a

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 Rambler was saying : —

“Tam co-m-rn-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 Rambler 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. Raccoon. 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. Rambler 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 Ali,” 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 Rambler, after saying “Thanky ”
with his tail; “yes, a good deal better, but I "Il
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 Ill 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.
Tt 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.

“T 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. 17

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 Ali
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 r 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.

“¢T 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?’

“
“¢ 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

“Ts the cotton yours?’ the man asked.

“<¢ Tt is Mr. Gossett’s.’

“¢ Why do you bring it here to-night?’

“<¢T had my orders.’

“¢QOh, if I had the old scoundrel here!’ cried
the man in a rage.

“ 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 ery 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, he walked by
the side of it, and I went ahead to see that the
way was clear. The Son of Ben Ali knew that
there was trouble in store for him, and he did n’t
want Old Grizzly to get hold of him.”

“T don’t see why,” said Buster John.

“Why, Old Grizzly did n’t know but the Son
of Ben Ali 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 Ali. 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 Ali to take the mule and wagon and cot-
ton where they belonged. He drove the wagon
utider 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,” Rambler answered,
“and it was a long time before he was anything
else. I didn’t bother my head about the Son
of Ben Ali 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.

“Tt 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 | 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 didn’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 us 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, holdmg 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
Iwas more than willing to do it, for the negro



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


co
may Vi }






The Baldwin Library


CU
eae

Wills:

(Muh 1¢. 1% 4S




Books bp Joel Chandler Harris. |

NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS. Illus-
trated. r12mo, $1.50; paper, 50 cents.

MINGO, AND OTHER SKETCHES IN BLACK
AND WHITE. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cents.

BALAAM AND HIS MASTER, AND OTHER
SKETCHES. 16mo, $1.25.

UNCLE REMUS AND HIS FRIENDS. Illus-
trated. 12mo0, $1.50.

LITTLE MR. THIMBLEFINGER AND HIS
QUEER COUNTRY. Illustrated. Square 8vo,
$2.00.

MR. RABBIT AT HOME. A Sequel to Little
Mr. Thimblefinger and his Queer Country.
Illustrated. Square 8vo, $2.00.

THE STORY OF AARON, SO-NAMED, THE
SON OF BEN ALI. A Sequel to Mr. Rabbit
at Home and Little Mr. Thimblefinger. Square
8vo, $2.00.

SISTER JANE, HER FRIENDS AND HER
NEIGHBORS. Crown 8vo, $1.50.

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
Boston anD New YorK.




7]



DRUSILLA FELL ON THE GROUND IN A HEAP (Page 23)
The Story of Aaron

(SO NAMED)
Che Son of Wen Ali

TOLD BY AIS FRIENDS AND ACQUAINTANCES

BY

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS

“

AUTHOR OF “‘ UNCLE REMUS,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED BY OLIVER HERFORD



BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
Che Witergide press, Cambridge
1896
Copyright, 1895,
By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS.

Copyright, 1896,
By HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.

All rights reserved.

The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.
Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton & Co.
CONTENTS.

. THE LANGUAGE OF THE ANIMALS.
Il.
III.
IV.
. RAMBLER, THE TrRAcK DoG, BEGINS HIS STORY

VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
. Tae Brack STALLIoN’s Story
XI.
XII.

A RE on THE BLAck STALLION
GRISTLE, THE GRAY PONY, BEGINS HIS STORY
GRISTLE, THE GRAY PONY, CONCLUDES HIS STORY

A Roun tHrRovew THE Woops
RAMBLER, THE TrRAcKk Doc, concLUDES HIS STORY
GRUNTER, THE Wuire Pic

THe Wuire Pie’s Story

FrrEE Potiy’s Story

Tor ARMY MARCHES BY

PAGE

19
34
52
69
86
103
120
137
155
172
187
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

PAGE

DRusitLA FELL ON THE GROUND IN A HEAP . Frontispiece.
BustrEr JOHN WENT FORWARD AND KNOCKED . 5 : . 6
AARON SHOWING THE Mirror : : : : : : 10
A Riper on THE Buiack STALLION : : . ; : . 26
A Rappit JUMPED UP AT THEIR FEET . : A : 388
THEY CARRIED HIM SOME GREEN CoRN . Fe ‘ A . 42
Tue SLAvE Train. : ; : : ; ; . : 46
Brn ALI HAD FOUND TWO FRIENDS . : : - . o4
A RABBIT DASHED ACROSS THE Roap . 76
. OLp GRIZZLY BROUGHT HIM BACK : : : : : . 82
I was CLOSE TO THE RABBIT . : . : : : : 86
Mammy sAy DEY WUS COURTIN’ . 5 : : : . 90
I LooKED UP AND WHINED : 2 a : : » 104
Youne GRIzzLy BOWED LOW : 5 : 7 ; 5 . 114
Tur WuitE Pig GREW STRONG AND DANGEROUS . . . 122
GRUNTER ASKING THE RED SQuIRRELS FOR Nuts . : . 184
Tue WHITE Pic TELits wis Srory . 2 . : . 140
A Witp Cat WAS WATCHING ME : : : : A . 144
Look on THE HILL YONDER . 7 . : 7 , . 148
Ture Gray MARE LEAPED AWAY FROM ME , : ; . 164
Tue WHITE-HAIRED MAster cut THE Rope. 2 : . 168
AARON TOTED HIM DOWN DE TREE . : . : : . 182
De Squincn Owl LIGHTED on A’on’s Hanp. 5 : . 184
Two SOLDIERS RODE ALONG 5 ; ; ‘ : ‘ . 188

His Eyres LINGERED ON THE PorTRAIT . r : Z . 192
THE STORY OF AARON.

1
THE LANGUAGE OF 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 have 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

29
.

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.
Rabbit, “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 fires 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
|

(

| eee

\



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 1

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
hfted 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. “TLe’ me see; like enough youd weigh
ninety poun’.”

“ Kighty-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? a

“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.

“T 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'll hear lots of sassy talk.
Sometimes, maybe, youll 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 ery : —


AARON SHOWING THE MIRROR
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.
“Wasn'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 finger 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.

“T’ll 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 ?”’

“Tt 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.

“TJ 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 ;
“T know dat mighty well.”

“Tt’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. 18

Aaron nodded. “Manya 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 Ali, 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 Ali 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 Ali 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 Ali, 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—TI 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; “well
go see old Timoleon.”

“ 'Timoleon !”
may.

Aaron laughed and nodded his head. “We’ll
take him out the stable and see what he says.
Timoleon good talker.”

“ Oh, I’m afraid to go!” cried Sweetest Susan.

cried Sweetest Susan, in dis-
16 THE STORY OF AARON.

“ Mamma told me never to go near Timoleon’s
stable.”

“T’ll 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!”

“T’ll set on de fence an’ see de hoss eat ’em
up,” suggested Drusilla, by way of a compromise.

“She ’Il 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, “well bring him out. If he has been
fretting, we ’ll 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 : —

“Run, 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.’

“JT 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 STORY OF AARON.

“ 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, but Drusilla was very serious.

“YT dunno which de wuss,” she cried, “ chickens
er folks.”

After that, te 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.
de
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 Timoleon 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.

“T’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 Ali, what have I done?” cried
Timoleon. “To-day I go hungry because the
corn is on the cob, to-morrow Ill 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 Ali?”

“Two grandchildren of the White haived
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.

“Tt 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
joming him boisterously — almost hysterically.
Drusilla, hearing this, rose to her feet with anger
in her eyes.

“J 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. Ill 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 Ali.”

“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.”

“T 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
Ahi,” 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.

“ Hasy, 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. “TI
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. Ill not run far before you will say, ‘Go
back!’ ”
se none esont eeeon cmemnnenm emamammtm tan



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’ll 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 didn’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
joimed the public road. From that point, turning
squarely to the left, the distance to the avenue
gate was about a mile. From the stable to the
avenue gate, through the spring lot— the way
Aaron went — was not quite half a mile.

“Tf 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 ery
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.

“JT see the children,” said the white-haired
grandfather. “They are safe. They have been
giving Timoleon 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!”
eried 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 youll stick to your
word,” said the grandfather. “TI 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.”

“YT 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.
TT
GRISTLE, THE GRAY PONY, BEGINS HIS STORY.

Tue 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. 85

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.

“Tt 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 wasn’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 didn’t feel able
to give any more.”

“Why wouldn’t Mr. Gossett sell Aaron?”
GRISTLE BEGINS HIS STORY. 87

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, grandrather eat
asked Buster J on

“Yes,” replied the old gentleman with a sigh :
“ves, 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 eall 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 wouldn’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 didn’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 didn’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.”

“T 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


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 :
“JT 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.
T 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.
Tt 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.

“J cantered on in this way, up hill and down
hili—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,






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: ‘1’m
not carrying them to jail. They are for sale.’

“¢ Phen 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’ll sell you that buck
at the head of the gang. He’s the finest of
the lot, but Ill sell him cheap. He’s worse
than a tiger.’

“The Little Master urged me forward until
50 THE 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.

“¢T ll 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

“T 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 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.’

“¢T 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.

Tue 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.

“J 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. 538

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 Ali 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
he knew that he had found one friend there.
He had found two friends, for the Little Master
stretched forth his hands, white asa flower, and
touched the Son of Ben Ali on the cheek, where
there was the mark of a wound, saying, ‘ Poor fel-
low! Iam 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 Ali 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 Als 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 Ali paid no at-
tention to him. He had his eyes fixed on the
face of the Little Master, following every move-
ment he made, and always smiling. The Little
Master kept his eyes on the White-haired Master,




BEN ALI HAD FOUND TWO FRIENDS
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'll 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'll 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'll 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. oT

“ “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 Ali 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.

“
“¢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: ‘Hight 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.

“¢QOne 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 : —

“<«T don’t like to be made a fool of. This
negro is yours, sir, for one thousand dollars.’

“This made the people laugh again, but the
Little Master didn’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 bid 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 finger?
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 reims and
bid me stand still.

“No,” said Mr. Gossett, ‘I’d ruther have the
nigger than the money.’

“ 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. J 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. 68

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 asa 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
ved 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 Ahi, 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 Ah
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 Ali sway under

my neck in the most unaccountable manner, and
66 THE STORY OF AARON.

the next moment I saw young Gossett fall ag 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 Ali 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.

“Tn 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, his 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 Ali 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.

“Ts that all?” asked Buster John.

“Tt 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.
V.
RAMBLER, THE TRACK DOG, BEGINS HIS STORY.

Tue 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. Itis all hearsay with me. The Son of Ben
Ali'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, “Ill 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

“JT 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 erying 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.

T 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. If not, no harm is done.’

“
“The answer was: ‘I’Il not be far away.’

“Thad 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.

“T mounted the wagon — But wait! Rambler,
the track dog, is here. He knows what hap-
pened. I will call him.” a

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 Rambler was saying : —

“Tam co-m-rn-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 Rambler 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. Raccoon. 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. Rambler 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 Ali,” 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 Rambler, after saying “Thanky ”
with his tail; “yes, a good deal better, but I "Il
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 Ill 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.
Tt 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.

“T 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. 17

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 Ali
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 r 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.

“¢T 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?’

“
“¢ 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

“Ts the cotton yours?’ the man asked.

“<¢ Tt is Mr. Gossett’s.’

“¢ Why do you bring it here to-night?’

“<¢T had my orders.’

“¢QOh, if I had the old scoundrel here!’ cried
the man in a rage.

“ 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 ery 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, he walked by
the side of it, and I went ahead to see that the
way was clear. The Son of Ben Ali knew that
there was trouble in store for him, and he did n’t
want Old Grizzly to get hold of him.”

“T don’t see why,” said Buster John.

“Why, Old Grizzly did n’t know but the Son
of Ben Ali 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 Ali. 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 Ali to take the mule and wagon and cot-
ton where they belonged. He drove the wagon
utider 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,” Rambler answered,
“and it was a long time before he was anything
else. I didn’t bother my head about the Son
of Ben Ali 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.

“Tt 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 | 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 didn’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 us 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, holdmg 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
Iwas more than willing to do it, for the negro
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 Ali 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 Ali. 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.

“T 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 didn’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.

“Tt 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’ll 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 Al. But it was impossible. No
one had passed, and so we ran on after the Son
of Ben Ali.

“The next best thing to finding some other


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 behind. Right 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,
tearmg 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 didn’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.

“T 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 Ali 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.”

“T 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


SAY DEY WUZ COURTIN’

MAMMY
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.

“T 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 Ali as they had been.

“T 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, they ’ve never told me anything about
it,” said Sweetest Susan, in an injured tone.

“ Nor me either,’ remarked Buster John.

“ Auh!” 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’ Ill 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.

“T’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 Mimy,” said Buster John, “we want
you to tell us about the time you went.into the
woods with mamma— when Uncle Aaron was a




OLD GRIZZLY BROUGHT HIM BACK
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.

“Kf 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 on:

“T 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 hoss. She danced an’
she pranced, an’ twuz e’en’bout all I could do
ter set up dar, her back wuz so slick.

“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 ‘nuff 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.

“T ’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.

“Youll 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 off’n 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.”

“J reckon she’s about right,” said Rambler,
yawning and stretching himself.

“What kinder cu’us fuss is dat dog makin’ ?”
asked Jemimy, seeing Aaron and the children
laughing. “TI ain’t never see no dog make fuss
hike 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.
“T 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 fer. I say, ‘You er
gwine dar kaze you speck you’ll 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 fer 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’.

“T "low, ‘Ef you gwine ter git any flowers
right roun’ here, you ’ll hafter dig in de groun’
atter ’em,’ an’ she say I better be ’tendin’ ter my
business, an’ hol’ 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 thoo de woods wid a gun. I look right
good, an’ den I know’d ’twuz Marse Dave Henry
Wyche.

“Well suh! you dunner how quare folks is.
Miss Rachel she seed ’im ’mos’ time I did, an’
den she stopped and fetched a little squall, des
like she didn’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 his 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 ’ll 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 um
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?’ JI 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 Rachel — an’ she’ll 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 Il 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’ll take me out’n de kitchen
an’ sen’ me ter de cotton patch, an’ I’m doi’
mighty well whar I is.”

Then, after telling Drusilla not to be sitting up
all night, she went out.
VIL.

RAMBLER, THE TRACK DOG, CONCLUDES HIS
STORY.

“Wuere did you go when you rode the filly
off?’ Buster John asked Aaron.

“ He came right here,” said Rambler; “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.

“T followed him here,” continued Rambler,
“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 Ali. 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 ‘ll never hunt any more niggers for him.’

“¢What is that?’ said the Son of Ben Ali
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 Ali.

“¢ What then ?’

“¢'Then let him alone.’

“Now, I was very glad of that,” continued
Rambler, licking 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-
ermg 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.

“T 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 Ali 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 Al.

“‘ 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 Ali 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 didn’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 of 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.’

“T 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 wasn’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.

“ ‘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 didn’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 Ali—afraid that they might discover the
runaway. But nothing would satisfy the Little
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 111

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-telling 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 discoy-
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 Ali.

“JT 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 todo? Why you’ —
Then, looking up, he caught sight of the Young
Mistress standing there with anger in her face.
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 118

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,
le

“Uncle Abe,’ said the Young Mistress, ‘ 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 Rachel! 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.

“ 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.

“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.












strc baoibermeromanieh ers

0 Bei YD
eo,

YOUNG GRIZZLY BOWED LOW
RAMBLER CONCLUDES HIS STORY. 115

“ Mistress said.

“ 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.

“TJ was wondering whether the Son of Ben
Ali 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 wasn’t. I’m never
certain of anything until I get my nose on it,
and there was a wall between the Son of Ben
Ali and me.

“The Young Mistress and the Little Master
116 THE STORY OF AARON.

were very angry, but before they 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 Ali 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 Ali 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 Als shoulder,
though the child was standing on his feet, and
the Son of Ben Ali on his knees.

. “The Young Mistress said: ‘If you stay
here they will 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 “Il 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’ll 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 ?’

“ the Son of Ben Ali.

“¢Then come, I’ll 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 Ali was out and
before him.

“<¢You are such a good rider, I’ll 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.

“Tf 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 baleony 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’ll 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 wasn’t long before they were
all in bed and sound asleep.
VIII.
GRUNTER, THE WHITE PIG.

Wuen 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,
So

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Wily

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.

“T 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 "ll 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 didn’t suit Drusilla at all, so she ran
toward the others, laughing.

“ T wuz des foolin’,” she said. “TI 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 ll 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 ina 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.

“JY 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.

“Tt is long since I’ve seen you, Son of Ben
Ah. Humph! No wonder! What am 1?”

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 Ali, and what trap have you set for
me?”

“Some little children armed with broom
straws,” laughed Aaron. “Run, 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.

“T 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 —
1380 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.”

“Tf I had a bag of corn,” suggested Aaron.

“JT say nothing, Son of Ben Ali. 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. “TI 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 ’ll scare him, and they say that when a wild
hog is scared he gets mad.”

“T 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 dar 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 fo’ 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-
182 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. Hf 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
#
&
i



GRUNTER ASKING THE RED SQUIRRELS 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.
“Return 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. “TI belong yonder; you belong here.”

“Then I’ll go where I belong. Ooft!”

“When you have pleased my friends.”

“To-morrow, Son of Ben Ali. Not now. They
are too far from home. To-night, when the moon
stands high, Ill 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 Ill 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.

Tue 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.

“Ts Unk A’on gwine ‘long wid us?” she in-
quired.

Tt 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, “ youll des hatter count me out.
I’ll 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.

“T’m most afraid,” said Sweetest Susan.

“T’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.

“T’ll 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

1?

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


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 Ali,”
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!’ JI didn’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 PIGS STORY. 142

T 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.

“Tt 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.

“ His voice shook a little.

“ 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.


G ME

A WILD CAT WAS WATCHIN
THE WHITE PIG’S STORY. 145
“Humph! The Son of Ben Ali said to this

Teacher: ‘ You ought to know me. You saw me
in the speculator’s train, and you saw me sold
from the block.’

“The Teacher placed his hand on the Son of
Ben Als 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.”

“Tt 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 Ali
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 Ali. ‘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.

“ 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
hike a pumpkin vine. One thing followed another
hike 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 they 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: —

““QLook! look on the hill yonder!’

“T 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 the 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.

“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,’




YONDER

HILL

kK ON THE

LOO
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?’

“ «Flush, 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 — gooft — 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 toa 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 PIGS 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!’

“Jt 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 Ali 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 1 was. He was wet
with sweat and trembling all over.

‘‘ Neither the men nor the horses were hutt.
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 lion. 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.

“ 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.

“¢Am I 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 PIGS 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. Ill sleep here a little, and when the
sun gets lower I’ll slip away to the swamp.”

“We are very much obliged to you,” said
Sweetest Susan.

“AHumph — umph! Humph — umph!”
grunted the White Pig. “Nicely said — nicely
said! I’m over-paid.”
X.
THE BLACK STALLION’S STORY.

Tue 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 didn’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 ery 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 — Richard 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 STALLIONS 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.
T’ll think it over, and tell you about it some other
time.”

Sweetest Susan and Drusilla jomed 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.”

“JT 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 Ja 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.”

“T thought they had forgotten me, Son of Ben
Ali. Iam 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.

“Tt 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 : —

“ for us this night!’

“TJ 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.’

“J liked nothing better than that, so I sprang
through the door, and went galloping after the
Son of Ben Ali. 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 Ah
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!’

“Tn 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 shoulders, 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. 168

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 Ali 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, knew I was going at only half speed,
and I longed to show the White-haired Master
what I could do.

“T 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 Ali. ‘ Wait!
Wait till we cross the bridge.’
164 THE STORY OF AARON.

“¢ Ave we riding or playing?’ asked the White-
haired Master. ‘Man, we’ll be too late!’

““* When we cross the bridge, we ’ll 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 Ali 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.




THE GRAY MARE LEAPED AWAY FROM ME
THE BLACK STALLION’S STORY. 165

IT 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 rems 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 Ali 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 Ahi,
‘he is the grandson of Abdallah.’

“Tt 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.

“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 them 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!

“T 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 be patient,
that thousands of good people were praying for
them, and that the time would come when they
would be 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’’ll 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, lifted 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, and 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.

“T 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.
XI.
FREE POLLY’S STORY.

Ir 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 ’ll 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 wantto 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.

“Ts she coming here to-night?”

“J —TJ 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 :

“T 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’ll 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
wuzaman. 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 know’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, ‘ Hf 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’ll 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.

“T 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’ll 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 fer 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 an’
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
fer short —‘ Polly Ann, I smell smoke. What
does you smell?’

““T 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’.’

“T 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.’

“T say, ‘I dunner how come it den.’

“He say, ‘All de same, Polly Ann, I smells
smoke.’

“T 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.’

“T 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.

“T 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
T smells smoke. Hit’s right off ’n de fire.’

“T say, ‘1 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.

“TJ 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.’

“T 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 you better watch
out

“T’d’a’ gone down dem stairsteps faster ’n I

999

come up,” exclaimed Drusilla.
“Hf 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’. J 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 fum five
mile ’roun’, an’ mighty nigh all de white folks
wuz dar. Ol 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. Ol 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 OP Marster : —

“<¢ Jedge, once *pon a time I hear you say you
want to buy dis nigger. What’ll you gimme fer
"im des ez he is?’

“¢ Twelve hundred dollars!’ Ol’ Marster hol-
ler’d back. He talk short an’ sharp, like he talkin’
to a fiel’ han’.

“Ol Mr. Gossett holler back, ‘Done!’

“Den Ol 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'll pay you de rest.’

“OP Mr. Gossett say, ‘But, Jedge, s’posin’ de.
nigger.is dead now ?’

“OVP Marster snap ’im short off: ‘ A trade’s a
trade. You stan’ by yone, an’ I'll stan’ by mine.’

“ Mr. Gossett say, ‘Oh, I’ll stan’ by mine, J edge.
De nigger is yone, live or dead.’ .

“Tt look like ter me,” continued Free 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


HAND

S

ON’

’

DE SQUINCH OWL LIGHTED ON A
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 ee 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, kaze
he don’t do like niggers. I didn’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’.

“T 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 Ali.’
“T 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 black hoss answer him. He holler
agin, an’ de gray mar’ whicker. He holler once
mo’, an’ de pony come a runnin’ an’ a whinnyin’.

“T say, ‘Man, le’ me go ’way fum here. I

done hear talk er Ben Ali long ’fo’ I seed you.”
XII.’
THE ARMY MARCHES BY.

Ir 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.”

“TI 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.

“Tittle 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.

“Tam sorry,” he said. “Ihave a message for
Little Crotchet.”


RAIT

PORT

HIS EYES LINGERED ON THE
THE ARMY MARCHES BY. 193

“Tf my son had lived,” remarked the children’s
grandfather, by way of explanation, “he would be
agrown 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 IJ 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
Te

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.
Tama 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
aman named Hudspeth ? ”

“ Perfectly,” said the old gentleman.

“ Mighty well,” said Aaron.

“ Well, this man, Richard 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.

“TJ 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
oné 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 live 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,

“ RicHARD HupspEru.”



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.

“ 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.





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