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“Dunno, Mas’r; gwine to run off, mebbe.” “Like to see him try that,” said Legree, with a savage grin, “wouldn’t we, Sambo?” “Guess we would! Haw! haw! ho!” said the sooty gnome, laughing obse- quiously. “Lord, de fun! To see him stickin’ in de mud,- chasin’ and tearin’ through de bushes, dogs a-holdin’ on to him! Lord, I laughed fit to split, dat ar time we cotched Molly. I thought they’d a had her all stripped up afore I could get ‘em off. She car’s de marks o’ dat ar spree yet.” “I reckon she will, to her grave,” said Legree. “But now, Sambo, you look sharp. If the nigger’s got anything of this sort going, trip him up.” “Mas’r, let me ‘lone for dat,” said Sambo. “I’ll tree de coon. Ho, ho, ho!” This was spoken as Legree was getting on to his horse, to go to the neighbor- ing town. That night, as he was returning, he thought he would turn his horse and ride round the quarters, and see if all was safe. It was a superb moonlight night, and the shadows of the graceful China trees lay minutely pencilled on the turf below, and there was that transparent stillness in the air which it seems almost unholy to disturb. Legree was at a little distance from the quarters, when he heard the voice of some one singing. It was not a usual sound there, and he paused to listen. A musical tenor voice sang, “When I can read my title clear |