be difficult to say. He might have been sixty or even seventy. The
African race does not betray the secret of age as readily as the
white. Probably the man did not know himself, nor is it of importance.
He moved with a jerk, and upon a nearer approach it appeared that the
lower part of one of his legs was made of wood. He must have been,
however, long accustomed to it, for as he moved rather sedately along,
it seemed to occasion him but little inconvenience. When sufficiently
near, Felix, touching his cap with great politeness, bade him good
morning, by the title of General. But who our new acquaintance is, we
may as well tell here as anywhere else.

The old negro, then approaching, was one of those, the number of whom,
although small compared with that of the white troops engaged in
the war of the Revolution, was still considerable enough not to be
entirely overlooked. His name was Primus Ransome, and at an early
period he had enlisted into the army, and served until disabled by
the loss of a leg, when he found himself in rags, with an excellent
character for bravery and general good conduct, minus the member left
at Yorktown, and a candidate for any such bounty as the exhausted
means of the country and the liberality of Congress might grant. He
contrived somehow to return to the town of Hillsdale, where, in a
checkered life, he had happened to pass two or three of his happiest
years, and there prepared to enjoy that liberty he had helped to
achieve. His good character, cheerful temper, and the services he had
performed made him a general favorite. Yet, notwithstanding, he found
it at first hard to get along. His military habits had incapacitated
him for long continued industry, and an invitation to a social glass
or an opportunity to tell one of his campaigning stories, was at any
time temptation sufficient to wile him away from labor. There was no
gentleman's kitchen where Primus was not treated with kindness, and