Uncle Tom's Cabin

While last fall, I let him go to Cincinnati alone to do business for me and bring home five hundred dollars. Tom, I says to him, I trust you because I think you're a Christian. I know you wouldn't cheat. Tom comes back sure enough. I knew he would. Some lowfellas, they say, said to him, Tom, why don't you make tracks for Canada? Ah, master trusted me and I couldn't. They told me about it. I am sorry to part with Tom, I must say. You ought to let him cover the whole balance of the debt, and you would, Haley, if you had any conscience. Well, I've got just as much conscience as any man in business can afford to keep. Just a little, you know, to swear by, as it were, said the traitor jocularly. And then, I'm ready to do anything in reason to blotch friends, but this year, you see, is a little too hard on the fella, a little too hard. The traitor sighed contemplatively and poured out some more brandy. Well then, Haley, how will you trade, said Mr. Shelby after an uneasy interval of silence. Well, haven't you a boy or gal that you could throw in with Tom? Hmm, none that I could well spare. To tell the truth, this only hard necessity makes me willing to sell it all. I don't like parting with any of my hands, that's a fact. Here, the door opened, and a small quadroon boy, between four and five years of age, entered the room. There was something in his appearance remarkably beautiful and engaging. His black hair, fine as floss silk, hung in glossy curls about his round, dimpled face, while a pair of large, dark eyes, full of fire and softness, looked out from beneath the rich, long lashes as he peered curiously into the apartment. A gay robe of scarlet and yellow plaid, carefully made and neatly fitted, set off to advantage the dark and rich style of his beauty, and a certain comic air of assurance, blended with bashfulness, showed that he had been not unused to being petted and noticed by his master. Hullo-ah, Jim Crow, said Mr. Shelby, whistling and snapping a bunch of raisins towards him. Pick that up now. The child scampered with all his little strength after the prize, while his master laughed. Come here, Jim Crow, said he. The child came up, and the master patted the curly head and chucked him under the chin. Now, Jim, show this gentleman how you can dance and sing. The boy commenced one of those wild, grotesque songs common among the Negroes, in a rich, clear voice, accompanying his singing with many comic evolutions of the hands, feet, and whole body, all in perfect time to the music. Bravo! said Haley, throwing him a quarter of an orange. Now, Jim, walk like old Uncle Cujo when he has the rheumatism, said his master. Instantly, the flexible limbs of the child assumed the appearance of deformity and distortion, as with his back humped up and his master's stick in his hand. He hobbled about the room, his childish face drawn into a doleful pucker and spitting from right to left in imitation of an old man. Both gentlemen laughed uproariously. Now, Jim, said his master, show us how old Elder Robbins leads the psalm. The boy drew his chubby face down to a formidable length and commenced toning a psalm tune through his nose with imperturbable gravity. Hurrah! Bravo! What a youngin', said Haley. That chap's a case, I'll promise. Tell you what, said he, suddenly clapping his hand on Mr. Shelby's shoulder. Fling in that chap and I'll settle the business, I will. Come now, if that ain't doin' the thing up about the rightest. At this moment, the door was pushed gently open, and a young quadroon woman, apparently about twenty-five, entered the room. There needed only a glance from the child to her to identify her as its mother. It was the same rich, full, dark eye, with its long lashes, the same ripples of silky black hair. The brown of her complexion gave way on the cheek of a person.