"It's a good many years since I have been to Thomas W.'s, and I reckon I can't tell you how to go there now."
"If master'll go over to Missy Abler's, I reckon dey ken tell 'em dah, sar."
"And how shall I go to Mrs. Abler's?"
"You want to go to Missy Abler's; you take dat path right over 'yond dem bars, dar, by de hog-pen, dat runs along by dat fence into de woods, and dat'll take you right straight dar."
"Is you come from Colonel Gillin's, massa?" asked the wash-woman.
"Yes."
"Did you see a black man dar, dey calls Tom, sar?"
"Yes."
"Tom's my husband, massa"; if you's gwine back dah, wish you'd tell um, ef you please, sar, dat I wants to see him partiklar; will ou, massa?"
"Yes."
"Tank you, massa."
I bowed to the old lady, and, in turning to ride off, saw two other negro boys who had come out of the woods, and were now leaning over the fence, and staring at us, as if I were a giant and Jane was a dragoness.
We trotted away, found the path, and in course of a mile had our choice of at least twenty forks to go "straight to Mrs. Abler's." At length, cleared land again, fences, stubble-*fields and a lane, that took us to a little cabin, which fronted, much to my surprise, upon a broad and well-travelled road. Over the door of the cabin was a sign, done in black, upon a hogshead stave, showing that it was a "Grosery," which, in Virginia, means the same thing as in Ireland—a dram-shop.
I hung the bridle over a rack before the door, and walked in. At one end of the interior was a range of shelves, on which were two decanters, some dirty tumblers, a box of
