Bricks Without Straw | Page 8

send him to work for."
"Yes, I know. You told him to come home if they took him into
Virginia, as I directed, I suppose."
"Certainly, sir," said Ware; "an' ez near ez I can learn they took him off
way down below Weldon somewheres, an' he lit out to come home jest
at the time of the February 'fresh.' He had to steal his way afoot, and
was might'ly used up when he got here, and died some little time
afterward."
"Yes. The company will have to pay a good price for him. Wasn't a
better nor sounder nigger on the river," said Desmit.
"That ther warn't," replied Ware. "The rest has all been well. Lorency
had a bad time over her baby, but she's 'round again as peart as ever."
"So I see. And the crops?"
"The best I've ever seed sence I've been here, Colonel. Never had such
a stand of terbacker, and the corn looks prime. Knapp-of-Reeds has
been doin' better 'n' better ever sence I've knowed it; but she's jest
outdoin' herself this year."
"Haven't you got anything to drink, Ware?"
"I beg your parding, Colonel; I was that flustered I done forgot my
manners altogether," said Ware apologetically. "I hev got a drap of
apple that they say is right good for this region, and a trifle of corn that
ain't nothing to brag on, though it does for the country right well."
Ware set out the liquor with a bowl of sugar from his sideboard as he
spoke, and called to the kitchen for a glass and water.

"That makes me think," said Desmit. "Here, you Lorency, bring me that
portmanty from the gig."
When it was brought he unlocked it and took out a bottle, which he first
held up to the light and gazed tenderly through, then drew the cork and
smelled of its contents, shook his head knowingly, and then handed it
to Ware, who went through the same performance very solemnly.
"Here, gal," said Desmit sharply, "bring us another tumbler. Now, Mr.
Ware," said he unctuously when it had been brought, "allow me, sir, to
offer you some brandy which is thirty-five years old--pure French
brandy, sir. Put it in my portmanty specially for you, and like to have
forgot it at the last. Just try it, man."
Ware poured himself a dram, and swallowed it with a gravity which
would have done honor to a more solemn occasion, after bowing low to
his principal and saying earnestly, "Colonel, your very good health."
"And now," said Desmit, "have the hands and stock brought up while I
eat my dinner, if you please. I have a smart bit of travel before me yet
to-day."
The overseer's horn was at Ware's lips in a moment, and before the
master had finished his dinner every man, woman, and child on the
plantation was in the yard, and every mule and horse was in the
barn-lot ready to be brought out for his inspection.
The great man sat on the back porch, and, calling up the slaves one by
one, addressed some remark to each, gave every elder a quarter and
every youngster a dime, until he came to the women. The first of these
was Lorency, the strapping cook, who had improved the time since her
master's coming to make herself gay with her newest gown and a
flaming new turban. She came forward pertly, with a young babe upon
her arm.
"Well, Lorency, Mr. Ware says you have made me a present since I
was here?"

"Yah! yah! Marse Desmit, dat I hab! Jes' de finest little nigger boy yer
ebber sot eyes on. Jes' you look at him now," she continued, holding up
her brighteyed pickaninny. "Ebber you see de beat ub dat? Reg'lar ten
pound, an' wuff two hundred dollars dis bressed minnit."
"Is that it, Lorency?" said Desmit, pointing to the child. "Who ever saw
such a thunder-cloud?"
There was a boisterous laugh at the master's joke from the assembled
crowd. Nothing abashed, the good-natured mother replied, with ready
wit,
"Dat so, Marse Kunnel. He's brack, he is. None ob yer bleached out
yaller sort of coffee-cullud nigger 'bout him. De rale ole giniwine kind,
dat a coal make a white mark on. Yah I yah! what yer gwine ter name
him, Mahs'r? Gib him a good name, now, none o' yer common mean
ones, but jes' der bes' one yer got in yer book;" for Colonel Desmit was
writing in a heavy clasped book which rested on a light stand beside
him.
"What is it, Mahs'r?"
"Nimbus," replied the master.
"Wh--what?" asked the mother. "Say dat agin', won't yer, Mahs'r?"
"Nimbus--Nimbus," repeated Desmit.
"Wal, I swan ter gracious!" exclaimed the mother. "Ef dat don't beat!
H'yer! little--what's yer name?