And now I reckon supper's about ready," he added.

"Nancy doesn't allow any loitering when it's a question of beat biscuits.

Take him up to his room, Rad--and you Mose," he called to one of the negroes hanging about the portico, "come and carry up Marse Arnold's things." At this one of them shambled forward and began picking up my traps which had been dumped in a pile on the steps.

His appearance struck me with such an instant feeling of repugnance, that even after I was used to the fellow, I never quite overcame that first involuntary shudder.

He was not a full-blooded negro but an octoroon.