It had been my intention to pass the night
at the hut, as I had frequently done before, but, seeing my host in
this mood, I deemed it proper to take leave. He did not press me
to remain, but, as I departed, he shook my hand with even more than
his usual cordiality.
It was about a month after this (and during the interval I had seen
nothing of Legrand) when I received a visit, at Charleston, from
his man, Jupiter. I had never seen the good old negro look so
dispirited, and I feared that some serious disaster had befallen my
friend.
"Well, Jup," said I, "what is the matter now?--how is your master?"
"Why, to speak the troof, massa, him not so berry well as mought
be."
"Not well! I am truly sorry to hear it. What does he complain
of?"
"Dar! dot's it!--him neber 'plain of notin'--but him berry sick for
all dat."
"VERY sick, Jupiter!--why didn't you say so at once? Is he
confined to bed?"
"No, dat he aint!--he aint 'fin'd nowhar--dat's just whar de shoe
pinch--my mind is got to be berry hebby 'bout poor Massa Will."
"Jupiter, I should like to understand what it is you are talking
about.
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