I was not, however, prepared to receive their hospitalities.

The only fault I found with them was their being too kind.

I had never had a white man to treat me as an equal, and the idea of a white lady waiting on me at the table was still worse! Though the table was loaded with the good things of this life, I could not eat.

I thought if I could only be allowed the privilege of eating in the kitchen, I should be more than satisfied! Finding that I could not eat, the old lady, who was a "Thompsonian," made me a cup of "composition," or "number six;" but it was so strong and hot, that I called it "_number seven_" However, I soon found myself at home in this family.

On different occasions, when telling these facts, I have been asked how I felt upon finding myself regarded as a man by a white family; especially just having run away from one.