"Haley is his name," said Shelby, turning himself rather uneasily in his
chair, and continuing with his eyes fixed on a letter.

"Haley! Who is he, and what may be his business here, pray?"

"Well, he's a man that I transacted some business with, last time I was
at Natchez," said Mr. Shelby.

"And he presumed on it to make himself quite at home, and call and dine
here, ay?"

"Why, I invited him; I had some accounts with him," said Shelby.

"Is he a negro-trader?" said Mrs. Shelby, noticing a certain
embarrassment in her husband's manner.

"Why, my dear, what put that into your head?" said Shelby, looking up.

"Nothing,--only Eliza came in here, after dinner, in a great worry,
crying and taking on, and said you were talking with a trader, and that
she heard him make an offer for her boy--the ridiculous little goose!"

"She did, hey?" said Mr. Shelby, returning to his paper, which he seemed
for a few moments quite intent upon, not perceiving that he was holding
it bottom upwards.

"It will have to come out," said he, mentally; "as well now as ever."

"I told Eliza," said Mrs. Shelby, as she continued brushing her hair,
"that she was a little fool for her pains, and that you never had