There was an old negro woman in the corner, on one
side of the stove, knitting; and a very old negro man in the opposite
corner, napping; and a middle-aged man, with spectacles on his ebony
nose, reading slowly aloud from an ancient grease-covered book opened
before him on the old pine table; and a middle-aged woman patching a
jacket; and a girl washing dishes, which another girl was wiping:
representatives of four generations: and they all quitted their
occupations at once, to see what sort of a devil Bill had brought home.
"Why, William! who have you got there, William?" said he of the
spectacles, with mild wonder,--removing those clerkly aids of vision,
and laying them across the book.
"A chair!" panted Bill. "Now ease him down, if you
please,--careful,--and I'll--recite the circumstances,"--puffing, but
polite to the last.
Helpless and gasping, Fessenden's was unfastened, and slipped down the
African's back upon a seat placed to receive him. He still clung to the
umbrella, which he endeavored to keep spread over him, while he stared
around with stupid amazement at the dim room and the array of black
faces.
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