Bond and Free | Page 5

I had to sign a paper, making over to him one-half the proceeds of the sale of the tradin' vessels, and ten thousand out of the bank stock. It is bad; but there is no backin' out."
So greedy was this man over ill-gotten means, that he shrank from sharing the booty with him, by whose art and labor only it could be grasped; while the lawyer, knowing well his client, was careful enough to possess himself of a liberal share of dishonest money for dishonest work.
The Templeton family, having suddenly become the holders of so considerable a fortune, the next step was to decide how to use it. Their hitherto limited income, derived from the profits of a small stock of groceries, had demanded strict economy to provide all with the comforts of life, and left little for its luxuries. The two oldest sons had been necessarily deprived of school privileges; for, as soon as they were old enough, they had been obliged to aid in the sale of their father's wares; and the elder daughters were equally useful in domestic duties. It was resolved that they must now be sent to boarding schools, and servants employed to take their place in all labor. The grocery was disposed of, as well as the furniture of their humble home; while, at the farm, reconstruction and reorganization were accomplishing wonders. Under the supervision of an architect, painters and carpenters made the plain, comfortable farm house of James Templeton lose its identity in a Gothic villa. New carpets and new furniture came in as a necessity. Parents as well as children, were bewildered at the novelty of a home with such surroundings, and knew not how to manage unaccustomed acquisitions.
"See here, ma;" said young John, a boy of ten years, "pa says you have bought six brocatelle chairs for the parlor. What is brocatelle, ma?"
"Don't expose your ignorance, boy; it is French for thirty dollars apiece; one would think you had never seen furniture before."
"Well, I never did see sich as this 'ere. And what's this thing for, all wadded like a pin-cushion?" throwing himself down, with his muddy boots elevated upon the polished veneering.
"That 'ere is a sociable. You, John, git off o' thar; see how you've scratched it. I'll show you what this is." Stooping down, she took off her slipper, and briskly exercised it about the boy's ears, who made a speedy retreat.
Among the servants an entire change of system had replaced the former order of things. Dinah had tucked away her five little ones, some in the trundle-bed (in which during happy days, now passed away, her dear "ole missus" had watched and cared for her own four darlings), some in the "big bed," and on her lap lay asleep her sixth child, a babe, born since the exile of its father, Joe. Nellie, a fellow-servant, was sitting near, trying, by the light of a rag, sputtering in the side of a "grease cup," to make a garment for herself.
"I's been tryin', Aunt Dinah, to find out w'ere at Maus Hunt took Miss 'Titia an' Joe. Steve, you know Steve, he druv the carriage that day, an' he says as how he tuck 'em down to a sailin' vessel."
"W'ere at was the vessel gwine?" inquired Dinah.
"Steve, he said he din'no nuffin' 'bout dat; but he 'spects dat dey war gwine to Georgy."
"De Lord help us! my Joe gone to Georgy!"
"W'at fur, Aunt Dinah, is you been dar? W'at fur a place is Georgy?"
Dinah shook her head, took her babe, which had fallen asleep, laid it in the bed, as carefully tucking it in as if it had been the nursling of a free mother, and, taking an old split-bottomed chair, leaned back till it rested against the wall. Setting her feet upon a round, she said: "Nellie, did you never hear tell of Georgy? It's a big jail--bigger'n dis plantation--w'ere dey puts de blacks w'at don't 'bey orders. It's got a suller, an' a down sta'rs, an' a up sta'rs, an' dar ain't no winders; it's all like a mill w'ere dey grin' sugar cane an' pick cotton. Dey have to work all day an' all night, ebery day han' runnin', wid chains 'round dar legs. An' Nellie, if Maus Hunt's gone and tuck my Joe an' Miss 'Titia dar, de Lord'll pay him off, sure. Dar nebber was a better boy nor my Joe; an' as to Miss 'Titia, she's an angel, jes like 'er 'ma was 'fore her."
"Dar's a heap o' comfort, Aunt Dinah, in trustin' in de Lord; dar's no oder holt to hang by."
"Look a' dis yere Missus; she allus done 'er own cookin', an' now she 'lows I can do all de cookin' fur de house, an' all de han's, 'side lookin' after de