Mrs. Shelby sat perfectly silent, pale with excitement, while Sam told his story.

“God be praised, she isn’t dead!” she said; “but where is the poor child now?”

“De Lord will pervide,” said Sam, rolling up his eyes piously.  “As I’ve been a sayin’, dis yer ’s a providence and no mistake, as Missis has allers been a instructin’ on us.  Thar’s allers instruments ris up to do de Lord’s will.  Now, if ’t hadn’t been for me today, she’d a been took a dozen times.  Warn’t it I started off de hosses, dis yer morning’ and kept ’em chasin’ till nigh dinner time?  And didn’t I car Mas’r Haley night five miles out of de road, dis evening, or else he’d a come up with Lizy as easy as a dog arter a coon.  These yer ’s all providences.”

“They are a kind of providences that you’ll have to be pretty sparing of, Master Sam.  I allow no such practices with gentlemen on my place,” said Mr. Shelby, with as much sternness as he could command, under the circumstances.

Now, there is no more use in making believe be angry with a negro than with a child; both instinctively see the true state of the case, through all attempts to affect the contrary; and Sam was in no wise disheartened by this rebuke, though he assumed an air of doleful gravity, and stood with the corners of his mouth lowered in most penitential style.

“Mas’r quite right,—­quite; it was ugly on me,—­there’s no disputin’ that ar; and of course Mas’r and Missis wouldn’t encourage no such works.  I’m sensible of dat ar; but a poor nigger like me ’s ‘mazin’ tempted to act ugly sometimes, when fellers will cut up such shines as dat ar Mas’r Haley; he an’t no gen’l’man no way; anybody’s been raised as I’ve been can’t help a seein’ dat ar.”

“Well, Sam,” said Mrs. Shelby, “as you appear to have a proper sense of your errors, you may go now and tell Aunt Chloe she may get you some of that cold ham that was left of dinner today.  You and Andy must be hungry.”

“Missis is a heap too good for us,” said Sam, making his bow with alacrity, and departing.

It will be perceived, as has been before intimated, that Master Sam had a native talent that might, undoubtedly, have raised him to eminence in political life,—­a talent of making capital out of everything that turned up, to be invested for his own especial praise and glory; and having done up his piety and humility, as he trusted, to the satisfaction of the parlor, he clapped his palm-leaf on his head, with a sort of rakish, free-and-easy air, and proceeded to the dominions of Aunt Chloe, with the intention of flourishing largely in the kitchen.

“I’ll speechify these yer niggers,” said Sam to himself, “now I’ve got a chance.  Lord, I’ll reel it off to make ’em stare!”