Such a fire they had come
through.
Virgie, in the early daylight, came upon a small, swarthy boy, driving a
little cart and ox.
"Are you a colored boy?" Virgie asked.
"No," answered the boy, proudly. "I'm Indian-river Indian; reckon I'm a
_little_ nigger."
"Take this poor man in and I will pay you. Where are you going?"
"To Dagsborough landing, for salt."
"Leave me at Dagsborough, at the old Clayton house," spoke up the blind
man; "it's empty. I can die thar or git a doctor."
Before the people were up they entered a little hamlet, on that stage
road from which they had made the night's detour, and saw a few small
houses and a little shingle-boarded church near by among the woods, and
one large house of a deserted appearance was at the town's extremity.
The man said, "This is John M. Clayton's birthplace: my wife used to
work yer."
"Virgie!" exclaimed a familiar voice.
The girl turned, her ears still ringing with the echoes of the swamp,
and saw a face she knew, and ran to the breast beneath it, crying,
"Samson Hat! Oh, friend, love me like my mother. I am very ill."
"Pore, darlin' child," Samson said; "no love will I ever bodder you wid
agin but a father's. Why air you so fur from home?"
"I'm sold, Samson: I'm trying to get free. The kidnappers is after me.
Oh, save me!"
"I've jist got away from 'em, Virgie. The ole woman, Patty Cannon, set
me free.
Pages:
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559