Why, the boy had held his stirrup the next morning when he rode away.

The sudden rush of recollection seemed to bridge the years, and that black face became familiar, a memory of home.
"Of course, I remember, Neb," he exclaimed, eagerly, "but that's all years ago and I never expected to see you again.

What brought you West and got you into this hole ?" The negro hitched up onto the bench, the whites of his eyes conspicuous as he stared uneasily about--he had a short, squatty figure, with excessively broad shoulders, and a face of intense good humor.
"I reck'n dat am consider'ble ob a story, Massa Jack, de circumlocution ob which would take a heap ob time tellin'," he began soberly.

"But it happened 'bout dis away.

When de Yankees come snoopin' long de East Sho'-- I reck'n maybe it des a yeah after dat time when we done buried de ol' Co'nel--dey burned Missus Caton's house clah to de groun'; de ol' Missus was in Richmond den, an' de few niggers left jest natchally took to de woods.