“You seem to fancy Leewizzy,” said Mr. Jackson, shaking the ashes from his pipe.
“I have never seen a handsomer child,” replied Mr. Noble. “Is she your daughter?”
“No, Sir; she’s my nigger,” was the brief response.
The young girl reentered the room at that moment, and the statement seemed so incredible, that the traveller eyed her with scrutinizing glance, striving in vain to find some trace of colored ancestry.
“Come here, Leewizzy,” said her master. “What d’ye keep yer eyes on the ground for? You ’a’n’t got no occasion to be ashamed o’yer eyes. Hold up yer head, now, and look the gentleman in the face.”
She tried to obey, but native timidity overcame the habit of submission, and, after one shy glance at the stranger, her eyelids lowered, and their long, dark fringes rested on blushing cheeks.
“I reckon ye don’t often see a poottier piece o' flesh,” said Mr. Jackson.
While he was speaking, his wife had come in from the kitchen, followed by a black woman with a dish of sweet potatoes and some hot corn-cakes. She made her presence manifest by giving “ Leewizzy” a violent push, with the exclamation, “ What ar ye standing thar for, yer lazy wench? Go and help Dinah bring in the fixens.” Then turning to her husband, she said, “You’ll make a fool o’ that ar gal. It’s high time she was sold. She’s no account here.”
Mr. Jackson gave a knowing wink at his guest, and remarked, “ Women-folks are ginerally glad enough to have niggers to wait on ’em; but ever sence that gal come into the house, my old woman’s been in a desperate hurry to have me sell her. But such an article don’t lose nothing by waiting awhile. I’ve some thoughts of taking a tramp to Texas one o’ these days; and I reckon a prime fancy article, like that ar, would bring a fustrate price in New Orleans.”
The subject of his discourse was listening to what he said; and partly from tremor at the import of his words, and partly from fear that she should not place the dish of bacon and eggs to please her mistress, she tipped it in setting it down, so that some of the fat was spilled upon the table-cloth. Mrs. Jackson seized her and slapped her hard, several times, on both sides of her head. The frightened child tried to escape, as soon as she was released from her grasp, hut, being ordered to remain and wait upon table, she stood behind her mistress, carefully suppressing her sobs, though unable to keep back the tears that trickled down her cheeks. The traveller was hungry; but this sight was a damper upon his appetite. He was indignant at seeing such a timid young creature so roughly handled; but he dared not give utterance to his emotions, for fear of increasing the persecution to which she was subjected. Afterward, when his host and hostess were absent from the room, and Louisa was clearing the table, impelled by a feeling of pity, which he could not repress, he laid his hand gently upon her head, and said, “Poor child!”
It was a simple phrase; but his kindly tones produced a mighty effect on that suffering little soul. Her pent-up affections rushed forth like a flood when the gates are opened. She threw herself into his arms, nestled her head upon his breast, and sobbed out, “Oh, I have nobody to love me now!” This outburst of feeling was so unexpected, that the young man felt embarrassed, and knew not what to do. His aversion to disagreeable scenes amounted to a weakness; and he knew, moreover, that, if his hostess should become aware of his sympathy, her victim would fare all the worse for it. Still, it was not in his nature to repel the affection that yearned toward him with so Overwhelming an impulse. He placed his hand tenderly on her head, and said, in a soothing voice, “Be quiet now, my little girl. I hear somebody coming; and you know your mistress expects you to clear the table.”
Mrs. Jackson was in fact approaching, and Louisa hastily resumed her duties.
