This
popular clamor served to recall the tavernkeeper to a sense of
duty.
"Ma'am, like I should tote you, or will you walk?" he inquired,
and reaching out his hand took hold of Betty.
"I'll walk," said the girl quickly, shrinking from the contact.
"Keep close at my heels. Bunker, you tuck along after her with
the boy."
"What about this nigger?" asked the fourth man.
"Fetch him along with us," said Slosson. They turned from the
road while he was speaking and entered a narrow path that led off
through the woods, apparently in the direction of the river. A
moment later Betty heard the carriage drive away. They went
onward in silence for a little time, then Slosson spoke over his
shoulder.
"Yes, ma'am, I've riz ten children but none of 'em was like him
--I trained 'em up to the minute!" Mr. Slosson seemed to have
passed completely under the spell of his domestic recollections,
for he continued with just a touch of reminiscent sadness in his
tone. "There was all told four Mrs. Slossons: two of 'em was
South Carolinians, one was from Georgia, and the last was a widow
lady out of east Tennessee. She'd buried three husbands and I
figured we could start perfectly even."
The intrinsic fairness of this start made its strong appeal. Mr.
Slosson dwelt upon it with satisfaction. "She had three to her
credit, I had three to mine; neither could crow none over the
other."
As they stumbled forward through the thick obscurity he continued
his personal revelations, the present enterprise having roused
whatever there was of sentiment slumbering in his soul.
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