“Oh, Ben, Ben!  Hit ain’ so, is it?”

“Yes, hit is.  Den you’ll be you own ooman—­leas’ways less’n you wants to be mine.”

She went and put her arms around his neck.  Her eyes were sparkling and her lips quivering.

“You don’ mean, Ben, dat I’ll be free?”

“Yes, you’ll be free, Viney.  Den I’s gwine to set to wo’k an’ buy my free papahs.”

“Oh, kin you do it—­kin you do it—­kin you do it?”

“Kin I do it?” he repeated.  He stretched out his arm, with the sleeve rolled to the shoulder, and curved it upward till the muscles stood out like great knots of oak.  Then he opened and shut his fingers, squeezing them together until the joints cracked.  “Kin I do it?” He looked down on her calmly and smiled simply, happily.

She threw her arms around his waist and sank on her knees at his feet sobbing.

“Ben, Ben!  My Ben!  I nevah even thought of it.  Hit seemed so far away, but now we’re goin’ to be free—­free, free!”

He lifted her up gently.

“It’s gwine to tek a pow’ful long time,” he said.

“I don’ keer,” she cried gaily.  “We know it’s comin’ an’ we kin wait.”

The woman’s serious mood had passed as quickly as it had come, and she spun around the cabin, executing a series of steps that set her husband a-grin with admiration and joy.

And so Ben began to work with renewed vigor.  He had found a purpose in life and there was something for him to look for beyond dinner, a dance and the end of the day.  He had always been a good hand, but now he became a model—­no shirking, no shiftlessness—­and because he was so earnest his master did what he could to help him.  Numerous little plans were formulated whereby the slave could make or save a precious dollar.

Viney, too, seemed inspired by a new hope, and if this little house had been pleasant to Ben, nothing now was wanting to make it a palace in his eyes.  Only one sorrow he had, and that one wrung hard at his great heart—­no baby came to them—­but instead he made a great baby of his wife, and went on his way hiding his disappointment the best he could.  The banjo was often silent now, for when he came home his fingers were too stiff to play; but sometimes, when his heart ached for the laughter of a child, he would take down his old friend and play low, soothing melodies until he found rest and comfort.

Viney had once tried to console him by saying that had she had a child it would have taken her away from her work, but he had only answered, “We could a’ stood that.”

But Ben’s patient work and frugality had their reward, and it was only a little over three years after he had set out to do it that he put in his master’s hand the price of Viney’s freedom, and there was sound of rejoicing in the land.  A fat shoat, honestly come by—­for it was the master’s gift—­was killed and baked, great jugs of biting persimmon beer were brought forth, and the quarters held high carnival to celebrate Viney’s new-found liberty.