legs and feet were seen racing down the lane to the landing, and Mandy Ann, waving her hand, was calling out, “Hol’ on dar, you cap’n.  I’se sometin’ berry ‘portant for de gemman.  Hol’ on, I say,” and she dashed across the plank, nearly knocking Ted down in her headlong haste.  “Whar is ’ee?” she gasped, and continued, “Leg-go, I tell ye.  Le’ me be,” as Ted seized her arm, asking what she wanted, and if she was going back to Jacksonville.

“No; leg-go, I tell you.  I wants the man from de Norf, what comed to see Miss Dory.  I’ve sometin’ for him very partic’lar.”

She found him in his seat at the rear of the boat, where he had sat on his way up, and had again appropriated to himself, with no one protesting or noticing him beyond a civil bow.  They called him Boston, knowing no other name, and wondered why he had visited the Harrises as they knew he had.  Ted, who was allowed nearly as much freedom of speech on the boat as Mandy Ann had at the clearing, had aired his opinion that the gentleman wanted to buy Mandy Ann, but this idea was scouted.  Boston was not one to buy negroes.  Probably he was some kin to old Granny Harris, who had distant connections in the North, some one suggested.  This seemed reasonable, and the people settled upon it, and gave him a wide berth as one who wished to be let alone.  When Mandy Ann rushed in and made her way to him curiosity was again roused, but no one was near enough to hear her as she put into his hands a paper, saying breathlessly, “Miss Dory done send some of it back with thanks, ’case she can’t keep it all, and she wants to know how d’ye, an’ I mus’ hurry, or dey carries me off.”

The stranger took the paper, opened it, and glanced at the bills; then at the girl who stood as if she expected something.  Taking a dollar from his pocket he gave it to her saying, “Take this and be a good girl to your young mistress, and now go.”

Mandy Ann did not move, but stood with her lips twitching and her eyes filling with tears.  No one had ever given her a dollar before, and her better nature cried out against what she had done.

“Fo’ de Lawd, I can’t help ’fessin,” she said, thrusting her hand into her bosom and bringing out a crumpled bill which she gave to the gentleman, who saw that it was a ten and looked at her sternly as she went on:  “I done promised Miss Dory I’never tache a thing, if she wouldn’t sell me to you, but dar was sich a pile, an’ I wanted some beads, an’ a red han’kercher, an’ a ring, an’ I done took one.  I don’no how much, ‘case I can’t read, an’ dat’s why I was late an’ had to run so fass.  You’re good, you is, an’ I muss ’fess—­may de Lawd forgive me.”