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"Dar now," said the old negro in a tone of satisfaction, "did not I tell you dat de sweet little child was libbing." "Thank you, old woman, God in Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Mrs. Wentworth, as she clapped the old woman's hand in her own. "Berry well, berry well," was the answer of the negro, "you welcome misses."
"No, gal," she answered, "I can't leab me old cabin; I been libbing dar dese twelve years, and I got so used to it dat I can't sleep out ob it." "Den I will take care ob de chile for you," said Elsy, "and you can come ebery now and den and see him." "Dat's so," she, replied. "But tell me, gal," she continued, "whar you come from?" "I come from New Orleans, Auntie," replied Elsy.
And then, dropping her hands and lowering her eyes, she walked soberly up to Lord Vincent's tall dressing- glass, plucked the parti-colored turban off her head and looked at herself, muttering: "No! it aint white, nor likewise gray! dough I did think, when dat creeping coldness come stealing through to roots of my h'ar, when I heerd dem wilyuns at deir deblish plot, as ebery libbing ha'r on my head was turned on a suddint white as snow; as I've heerd tell of happening to people long o' fright.
I had a brudder libbing in de low parrish of Nansemond county, but he is ded. His name was George." I said, "Uncle Davy, you are correct. On one occasion, being at Driver's Store, in lower parrish of Nansemond, I saw a tall and very polite colored man drive up. I was struck with his appearance, and asking him his name, he said George W. Coston, sir.
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