not because he exhibited in person or manners any of the before-mentioned
peculiarities, but from his being registered from New Orleans.

The following morning, as soon as he had breakfasted, he started in search
of Mr. Ellis. The address was 18, Little Green-street; and, by diligently
inquiring, he at length discovered the required place.

After climbing up a long flight of stairs on the outside of an old wooden
building, he found himself before a door on which was written, "Charles
Ellis, carpenter and joiner." On opening it, he ushered himself into the
presence of an elderly coloured man, who was busily engaged in planing off
a plank. As soon as Mr. Winston saw his face fully, he recognized him as
his old friend. The hair had grown grey, and the form was also a trifle
bent, but he would have known him amongst a thousand. Springing forward, he
grasped his hand, exclaiming, "My dear old friend, don't you know me?" Mr.
Ellis shaded his eyes with his hand, and looked at him intently for a few
moments, but seemed no wiser from his scrutiny. The tears started to Mr.
Winston's eyes as he said, "Many a kind word I'm indebted to you for--I am
George Winston--don't you remember little George that used to live on the
Carter estate?"

"Why, bless me! it can't be that you are the little fellow that used to go
home with me sometimes to Savanah, and that was sold to go to New Orleans?"

"Yes, the same boy; I've been through a variety of changes since then."

"I should think you had," smilingly replied Mr. Ellis; "and, judging from
appearances, very favourable ones! Why, I took you for a white man--and you
are a white man, as far as complexion is concerned. Laws, child!" he
continued, laying his hand familiarly on Winston's shoulders, "how you have