NEGRO LIFE IN AMERICA. 97

will never think of it; they will look for me on ahead, and you
yourself wouldn't know me. Jim’s master don’t live in this
county ; he isn’t known in these parts. Besides, he is given up ;
nobody is looking after him, and nobody will take me up from the
advertisement, I think.”

“‘ But the mark in your hand 2”

George drew off his glove, and showed a newly-healed scar in
his hand. |

“That is a parting proof of Mr. Harris's regard,” he said
scornfully. A fortnight ago, he took it into his head to give it
to me, because he said he believed I should try to get away one
of these days. Looks interesting, doesn’t it ?” he said, drawing
his glove on again.

“I declare, my very blood runs cold when I think of it—your
condition and your risks!” said Mr; Wilson.

“Mine has run cold a good many years, Mr. Wilson; at pre-
sent, it’s about up to the boiling-point,” said George.

** Well, my good sir,” continued George, after a few moments’
silence, “I saw you knew me; I thought I’d just have this talk
with you, lest your surprised looks should bring me out. I leave
early to-morrow morning, before daylight ; by to-morrow night I
hope to sleep safe in Ohio. I shall travel by daylight, stop at the
best hotels, go to the dinner-table with the lords of the land. So,
good bye, sir ; if you hear that I’m taken, you may know I’m dead !”

George stood up like a rock, and put out his hand with the air
of aprince. The friendly little old man shook it heartily, and
after a little shower of caution, he took his umbrella, and fumbled
his way out of the room.

George stood thoughtfully looking at the door as the old man
closed it. A thought seemed to flash across his mind. He hastily
stepped to it, and opening it, said—

‘Mr. Wilson, one word more.”

The old gentleman entered again, and George, as before, locked
the door, and then stood for a few moments looking on the floor
irresolutely. At last, raising his head with a sudden effort-—

“Mr. Wilson, you have shown yourself a Christian in your
treatment of me—I want to ask one last deed of Christian kind-
ness of you.”

“* Well, George.”

“* Well, sir, what you said was true. I am running a dreadful
risk. There isn’t on earth a living soul to care if I die.” he added,
drawing his breath hard, and speaking with a great effort. «I
shall be kicked out and buried like a dog, and nobody ‘Il think of
it a day after—only my poor wife! Poor soul! she'll mourn and
grieve; and if you'd only contrive, Mr. Wilson, to send this little
pin to her. She gave it to me for a Christmas present, poor
child! Give it to her, and tell her that I loved her to the last.
Will you? Will you?" he added earnestly.

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