A glance backward for an hour or so will let us into the secret.
It was the day when a number of negroes were to be sold in the courthouse.

There was no trouble in disposing of them all, save one, a white-haired old man, whom they called Uncle Sam.
With tottering steps the old man took his place, while his dim eyes wandered wistfully over the faces around him congregated, as if seeking for their owner.

But none was found who cared for Uncle Sam.
"Won't nobody bid for Sam?
I fetched a thousan' dollars onct," and the feeble voice trembled as it asked this question.
"What will become of him if he is not sold ?" Hugh asked of a bystander, who replied, "Go back to the old place to be kicked and cuffed by the minions of the new proprietor, Harney.

You know Harney, of Frankfort ?" Yes, Hugh did know Harney as one who was constantly adding to his already large possessions houses and lands and negroes without limit, caring little that they came to him laden with the widow's curse and the orphan's tears.

This was Harney, and Hugh always felt exasperated whenever he thought of him.