pathos and indignation in his voice, as he said, "I used to love Mirandy
as I love my life. I thought the sun rose and set in her. I never saw a
handsomer woman than she was. But she fooled me all over the face and
eyes, and took up with that hell-hound of a trader, Lukens; an' he gave
her a chance to live easy, to wear fine clothes, an' be waited on like a
lady. I thought at first I would go crazy, but my poor mammy did all she
could to comfort me. She would tell me there were as good fish in the
sea as were ever caught out of it. Many a time I've laid my poor head on
her lap, when it seemed as if my brain was on fire and my heart was
almost ready to burst. But in course of time I got over the worst of
it; an' Mirandy is the first an' last woman that ever fooled me. But
that dear old mammy of mine, I mean to stick by her as long as there is
a piece of her. I can't go over to the army an' leave her behind, for if
I did, an' anything should happen, I would never forgive myself."

"But couldn't you take her with you," said Robert, "the soldiers said we
could bring our women."

"It isn't that. The Union army is several miles from here, an' my poor
mammy is so skeery that, if I were trying to get her away and any of
them Secesh would overtake us, an' begin to question us, she would get
skeered almost to death, an' break down an' begin to cry, an' then the
fat would be in the fire. So, while I love freedom more than a child
loves its mother's milk, I've made up my mind to stay on the plantation.
I wish, from the bottom of my heart, I could go. But I can't take her
along with me, an' I don't want to be free and leave her behind in
slavery. I was only five years old when my master and, as I believe,
father, sold us both here to this lower country, an' we've been here
ever since. It's no use talking, I won't leave her to be run over by
everybody."