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"Ki!" laughed Ben, "white darkey. Mind ole dad, Mars' John, as took off in der swamp? Um asked dat Linkinite ef him saw dad up Norf. Guess him's free now. Ki! ole dad!" "The swamp was the place for him," said Lamar. "I remember." "Dunno," said the negro, surlily: "him's dad, af'er all: tink him's free now," and mumbled down into a monotonous drone about
"Yer master's some at swearin'. Heow many, neow, hes he like you, down to Georgy?" The boatman's bony face was gathering a woful pity. He had enlisted to free the Uncle Toms, and carry God's vengeance to the Legrees. Here they were, a pair of them. Ben squinted another critical survey of the "miss'able Linkinite." "How many wells hev yer poisoned since yer set out?" he muttered.
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