Had Mr. Noble been guilty of some culpable action, he could not have felt more desirous to escape the observation of his hostess. As soon as she entered, he took up his hat hastily, and went out to ascertain whether his horse had been duly cared for.
He saw Louisa no more that night. But as he lay awake, looking at a star that peeped in upon him through an opening in the log wall, he thought of her beautiful eyes, when the sun shone upon them, as she emerged from the shadows. He wished that his mother and sister were living, that they might adopt the attractive child. Then he remembered that she was a slave, reserved for the New Orleans market, and that it was not likely his good mother could obtain her, if she were alive and willing to undertake the charge. Sighing, as he had often done, to think how many painful things there were which he had no power to remedy, he fell asleep and saw a very small girl dancing with a pail of water, while a flock of white doves were wheeling round her. The two pictures had mingled on the floating cloud-canvas of dream-land.
He had paid for his entertainment before going to bed, and had signified his intention to resume his journey as soon as light dawned. All was silent in the house when he went forth; and out of doors nothing was stirring but a dog that roused himself to bark after him, and chanticleer perched on a stump to crow. He was, therefore, surprised to find Louisa at the crib where his horse was feeding. Springing toward him, she exclaimed,—
“Oh, you have come! Do buy me, Sir! I will be so good! I will do everything you tell me! Oh, I am so unhappy! Do buy me, Sir!”
He patted her on the head, and looked down compassionately into the swimming eyes that were fixed so imploringly upon his.
“Buy you, my poor child?” he replied. “I have no house,—I have nothing for you to do.”
“My mother showed me how to sew some, and how to do some embroidery,” she said, coaxingly. “I will learn to do it better, and I can earn enough to buy something to eat. Oh, do buy me, Sir! Do take me with you!”
“I cannot do that,” he replied; “for I must go another day’s journey before I return to Mobile.”
“Do you live in Mobile?” she exclaimed, eagerly. “My father lived in Mobile. Once I tried to run away there, but they set the dogs after me. Oh, do carry me back to Mobile!”
“What is your name?” said he; “and in what part of the city did you live?”
“My name is Louisa Duncan; and my father lived at Pine Grove. It was such a beautiful place! and I was so happy there! Will you take me back to Mobile? Will you? ”
Evading the question, he said,—
“Your name is Louisa, but your father called you Loo Loo, didn’t he?” That pet name brought forth a passionate outburst of tears. Her voice choked, and choked again, as she sobbed out,—
“ Nobody has ever called me Loo Loo since my father died.”
He soothed her with gentle words, and she, looking up earnestly, as if stirred by a sudden thought, exclaimed,—
“How did you know my father called me Loo Loo?”
He smiled as he answered, “ Then you don’t remember a young man who ran after you one day, when you were playing with a little white dog at Bine Grove? and how your father called to you, ‘Come here, Loo Loo, and see the gentleman'?”
“I don’t remember it,” she replied; “but I remember how my father used to laugh at me about it, long afterward. He said I was very young to have gentlemen running after me,”
“I am that gentleman,” he said. “When I first looked at you, I thought I had seen you before; and now I see plainly that you are Loo Loo.”
That name was associated with so
