That afternoon the field hands paid no attention to Mr.
Baron's orders, and he saw that slaves from other plantations were
present. Uncle Lusthah sat at his door with his head bowed on his
breast. His people would listen to him no more, and he himself was
so divided in his feelings that he knew not what to say.
"Hit may be de Lawd's doin's ter set He people free," he muttered,
"but somehow I kyant brung mysef ter lebe dat po' sick chile. Ole
mars'r en ole miss kyant see en woan see, en dat lil chile w'at
stan' up fer us in de 'stremity ob triberlation be lef wid no one
ter do fer her. I berry ole en stiff in my jints en I cud die
peaceful ef I know I free; but hit 'pears that de Lawd say ter me,
'Uncle Lusthah, stay right yere en look arter dat lil sick lam'. Den
I mek you free w'en de right time come.'"
Uncle Lusthah soon had the peace of the martyr who has chosen his
course. Mr. Baron also sat on his veranda with head bowed upon his
breast. He too had chosen his course, and now in consequence was
sunk in more bitter and morose protest than ever.
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