University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
'LINA'S PURCHASE AND HUGH'S

There were piles of handsome dress goods upon the
counter at Harney's that afternoon, and Harney was anxious
to sell. It was not often that he favored a customer
with his own personal services, and 'Lina felt proportionably
flattered when he came forward and asked what he
could show her. “Of course, a dress for the party — he
had sold at least a dozen that day, but fortunately he still
had the most elegant pattern of all, and he knew it would
exactly suit her complexion and style. There would be
nothing like it at the party, unless she wore it, as he
hoped she would, for he knew how admirably she would
become it, and he'd had her in his mind all the time.
'Lina was easily flattered, while the silk was beautiful,
and as she thought how well the soft tinted rose with its
single white velvety leaf, standing out so full and rich,
would become her dark hair and eyes, an intense desire
came over her to possess it. But ten dollars was all she
had, and turning away from the tempting silk she answered
faintly, that “it was superb, but she could not
afford it, besides, she had not the money to-day.”

“Not the slightest consequence,” was Harney's quick
rejoinder, as he thought of Hugh's already heavy bill, and
alas, thought of Rocket too! “Not the slightest consequence.
Your brother's credit is good, and I'm sure he'll
be proud to see you in it. I should, were I your brother.”

'Lina blushed, while the wish to possess the silk grew
every moment stronger.

“If it were only fifty dollars, it would not seem so bad,”
she thought. Hugh could manage it some way, and Mr.

Harney was so good natured; he could wait a year, she
knew. But the making would cost ten dollars more, for
that was the price Miss Allis charged, to say nothing of
the trimmings. “No, I can't,” she said, quite decidedly at
last, asking for the lace with which she at first intended
renovating her old pink silk. “She must see Miss Allis
first to know how much she wanted,” and she tripped over
to Frankfort's fashionable dressmaker, whom she found
surrounded with dresses for the party.

Such an array and such elegance too; the old pink faded
into nothing. She should be quite in the shade, and
feeling much like crying, 'Lina sat watching the nimble
fingers around her, and waiting for Miss Allis' advice, when
a new idea crossed her mind. She heard Adah say that
morning when she was in her room, that she could sew
neatly, that she always made her own dresses, and if hers,
why not 'Lina's! She certainly looked as if she might
have good taste, and she ought to do something by way
of remuneration; besides that, if Adah made it, she could,
from her mother's budgets pick up enough for linings,
whereas nothing but new entire would answer the purpose
of a fashionable artiste, like Miss Diana Allis. 'Lina was
fast persuading herself to buy the coveted silk, and as
some time would elapse ere Miss Allis could attend to her
she went back to Harney's just for one more look at the
lovely fabric. It was, if possible, more beautiful than before,
and Harney was more polite, while the result of the
whole was that, when 'Lina at four o'clock that afternoon
entered her carriage to go home, the despised pink silk,
still unpaid on Harney's books, was thrown down any
where, while in her hands she carefully held the bundle
Harney brought himself, complimenting her upon the
sensation she was sure to create, and inviting her to dance
the first set with him. Then with a smiling bow he closed
the door upon her, and returning to his books wrote
down Hugh Worthington his debtor to fifty dollars more.

“That makes three hundred and fifty,” he said to himself.
“I know he can't raise that amount of ready money,
and as he is too infernal proud to be sued, I'm sure of
Rocket or Lulu, it matters but little which,” and with a
look upon his face which made it positively hideous, the
scheming Harney closed his books, and sat down to calculate
the best means of managing the rather unmanageable
Hugh!

It was dark when 'Lina reached home, but the silk looked
well by fire-light, and 'Lina would have been quite
happy but for her mother's reproaches and an occasional
twinge as she thought of Hugh who had not yet returned,
and whose purchase that afternoon was widely different
from her own.

It was the day when a number of negroes, whose master
had failed to a large amount, were to be sold in the
Court House, and Hugh, as he reined up a moment before
it, saw them grouped together upon the steps. He had
no fancy for such scenes, but the eager, wistful glances
the wretched creatures cast upon the passers by awoke
his sympathy, and after finishing his business he returned
to the Court House just as the auctioneer was detailing the
many virtues of the bright-looking lad first upon the
block. There was no trouble in disposing of them all,
save a white-haired old man, whom they called Uncle
Sam, and who was rather famous for having been stolen
from his late master and sold into Virginia. With tottering
steps the old man took his place, while his dim eyes
wandered over the faces congregated around him as if seeking
for their owner. But none was found who cared for
Uncle Sam. He was too old — his work was done, and
like a worn out horse he must be turned off to die.

“Won't nobody bid for Sam? I fotched a thousand
dollars onct,” and the feeble voice trembled as it asked
this question.

“What will become of him if he is not sold?” Hugh

asked of a bystander, who replied, “Go back to the old
place to be kicked and cuffed by the minions of the new
proprietor, Harney. You know Harney, of Frankfort?”

Yes, Hugh did know Harney as one who was constantly
adding to his already large possessions houses and lands
and negroes without limit, caring little that they came to
him laden with the widow's curse and the orphan's tears.
The law was on his side. He did nothing illegally, and so
there was no redress. This was Harney, and Hugh always
felt exasperated when he thought of him. Advancing
a step or two he came nearer to the negro, who
took comfort at once from the expression of his face, and
stretching out his shaking hand he said beseechingly,

“You, mas'r, you buy old Sam 'case it 'ill be lonesome
and cold in de cabin at home when they all is gone. Please
mas'r,” and the tone was so pleading, that Hugh felt a
great throb of pity for the desolate, forsaken negro.

“How old are you?” he asked, taking the quivering
hand still extended toward him.

“Bless you, mas'r, longer than I can 'member. They
was allus puttin' me back and back to make me young,
till I couldn't go backuds no more, so I spec's I's mighty
nigh a thousan',” was the negro's reply, whereupon cheers
for Uncle Sam resounded long and loud among the
amused spectators.

“What can you do?” was Hugh's next query, to
which the truthful negro answered,

“Nothin' much, or, yes,” and an expression of reverence
and awe stole over the wrinkled face, as in a low tone he
added, “I can pray for young mas'r, and I will, only buy
me, please.”

Hugh had not much faith in praying negroes, but something
in old Sam struck him as sincere. His prayers
might do good, and he needed somebody's, sadly. But
what should he offer, when fifteen dollars was all he had
in the world, and was it his duty to encumber himself

with a piece of useless property? Visions of the Golden
Haired and Adah both rose up before him. They would
say it was right. They would tell him to buy old Sam,
and that settled the point.

“Five dollars,” he called out, and Sam's “God bless
you,” was sounding in his ears, when a voice from another
part of the building doubled the bid, and with a moan
Uncle Sam turned imploringly toward Hugh.

“A leetle more, mas'r, an' you fotches 'em; a leetle
more,” he whispered, coaxingly, and Hugh faltered out
“Twelve.”

“Thirteen,” came from the corner, and Hugh caught
sight of the bidder, a sour-grained fellow, whose wife had
ten young children, and so could find use for Sam.

“Thirteen and a half,” cried Hugh.

“Fourteen,” responded his opponent.

“Leetle more, mas'r, berry leetle,” whispered Uncle
Sam.

“Fourteen and a quarter,” said Hugh, the perspiration
starting out about his lips, as he thought how fast his pile
was diminishing, and that he could not go beyond it.

“Fourteen and a half,” from the corner.

“Leetle more, mas'r,” from Uncle Sam.

“Fourteen, seventy-five,” from Hugh.

“Fifteen,” from the man in the corner, and Hugh
groaned aloud,

“That's every dime I've got.”

Quick as thought an acquaintance beside him slipped
a bill into his hand, whispering as he did so,

“It's a V. I'll double it if necessary. I'm sorry for
the darky.”

It was very exciting now, each bidder raising a quarter
each time, while Sam's “a leetle more, mas'r,” and the vociferous
cheers of the croud, whenever Hugh's voice was
heard, showed him to be the popular party.

“Nineteen, seventy-five,” from the corner, and Hugh
felt his courage giving way as he faintly called out,

“Twenty.”

Only an instant did the auctioneer wait, and then his
decisive, “Gone!” made Hugh the owner of Uncle Sam,
who crouching down before him, blessed him with tears
and prayers.

“I knows you're good,” he said; “I knows it by yer
face; and mebby, when the rheumatics gits out of my ole
legs I kin work for mas'r a heap. Does you live fur from
here?”

“Three miles or more,” Hugh replied, bidding the negro
follow him.

The snow was melting, but out upon the turnpike it was
still so deep that Hugh had many misgivings as to the old
man's ability to walk, but Sam, intent on proving that he
was smarter than he seemed, declared himself perfectly
competent to go with “Mars'r” to the world's end, if necessary.

“It's mighty cold, though,” he said, as he emerged into
the open air, and the chilly wind penetrated the thin rags
which covered him. “It's mighty cold, and my knees is
all a shakin', but I'll git over it bimeby.”

It was not in Hugh's nature to see the old man shiver
so, and taking off his own thick shawl he wrapped it round
the negro's shoulders, saying to the bystanders,

“My blood is warmer than his.”

Another cheer from the crowd, another, “God bless you,
mas'r,” and the strange pair started on their homeward
tour, Hugh riding very slowly, and accommodating Rocket's
steps to the hubbling old man, who wheezed and puffed,
and sweat with the wondrous efforts he made, and at
last when only a mile was gone, gave out entirely, and
pitched headlong into the snow.

“It's my dumb knees. They allus was crooked and shaky,”
he gasped, becoming more and more entangled in the
shawl, which he was not accustomed to wearing.

“Look here, Sam,” and Hugh laughed heartily at the

negro's forlorn appearance, as, regaining his feet, he assumed
a most deprecating attitude, asking pardon for tumbling
down, and charging it all to his shaky knees. “Look
here, there's no other way, except for you to ride and me
to walk. Rocket won't carry double,” and ere Sam could
remonstrate, Hugh had dismounted and placed him in the
saddle.

Rocket did not fancy the exchange, as was manifest by
an indignant snort, and an attempt to shake Sam off, but
a word from Hugh quieted him, and the latter offered the
reins to Sam, who was never a skillful horseman, and felt
a mortal terror of the high-mettled steed beneath him.
With a most frightened expression upon his face, he grasped
the saddle pommel with both hands, and bending nearly
double, gasped out,

“Sam ain't much use't to gemman's horses. Kind of
hold me on, mas'r, till I gits de hang of de critter. He
hists me round mightily.”

So, leading Rocket with one hand, and steadying Sam
with the other, Hugh got on but slowly, and 'Lina had
looked for him many times ere she spied him from the
window as he came up the lawn.

“In the name of wonder, what is that on Rocket!” she
exclaimed, as she caught sight of Sam, whose rags were
fluttering in the wind. “An old white-headed nigger, as I
live!” and she hastened to the door, where the servants
were assembling, all curious like herself to see the new arrival.

Very carefully Hugh assisted him to dismount, but
Sam's knees, cramped up so long on Rocket, refused to
straighten at once, and Lulu was not far out of the way
when she likened him to a toad, while her mischievous
brother Jim called out,

“How d'ye, old bow legs?”

“Jest tol'able, thankee,” was Sam's meek reply, then
spying 'Lina he lifted his hat politely, bowing so low that

his knees gave out again, and he would have fallen had
not Hugh held him up.

“Who is he, and what did you get him for? Mrs.
Worthington asked, as Hugh led him into the dining
room.

Briefly Hugh explained to her why he had bought the
negro.

“It was foolish, I suppose, but I'm not sorry yet,” he
added, glancing toward the corner, where the poor old
man was sitting, warming his shriveled hands by the
cheerful fire, and muttering to himself blessings on
“young mas'r.”

Supper had been delayed for Hugh, and as he took his
seat at the table, he inquired after Adah.

“Pretty well when I left,” said his mother, adding that
Lulu had been there since, and reported her as looking
pale and worn, while Aunt Eunice seemed worried with
Willie, who was inclined to be fretful.

“They need some one,” Hugh said. Can't you spare
Lulu?”

Mrs. Worthington did not know, but 'Lina, to whom
Lulu was a kind of waiting-maid, took the matter up, and
said,

“Indeed they couldn't. There was no one at Spring
Bank more useful, and it was preposterous for Hugh to
think of giving their best servant to Adah Hastings. Let
her take care of her baby herself. She guessed it wouldn't
hurt her. Any way, they couldn't afford to keep a servant
for her.”

With a long drawn sigh, Hugh finished his supper, and
was about lighting his cigar when he felt some one touching
him, and turning round he saw that Sam had grasped
his coat. The negro had heard the conversation, and
drawn correct conclusions. His new master was not rich.
He could not afford to buy him, and having bought him
could not afford to keep him. There was a sigh in the

old man's heart, as he thought how useless he was, but
when he heard about the baby, his spirits rose at once.
In all the world there was nothing so precious to Sam as
a little white child, with waxen hands to pat his old black
face, and his work was found.

“Mas'r,” he whispered, “Sam kin take keer that baby.
He knows how, and the little childrens in Georgy, whar I
comed from, used to be mighty fond of Sam. I'll tend to
the young lady too. May I, Mas'r?”

Sam did not look much like Hugh's ideas of a child's
nurse or a ladie's waiting maid, but necessity knows no
choice, and thinking the old man might answer for Willie
until something better offered, he replied,

“Perhaps you may. I will see to-morrow.”

Then, stepping to the door he called Claib, and bidding
him show Sam where he was to sleep, repaired himself
to his own cold chamber which seemed doubly comfortless
and dreary from its contrast with the warm pleasant
sitting room where the selfish 'Lina, delighted at his absence,
was again admiring the handsome silk, which Adah
was to make.