"Hush, Caesar--hush; never mind it now," said Sarah Wharton soothingly,
impatient to hear further.
"A black man so good as white, Miss Sally," continued the offended
negro, "so long as he behave heself."
"And frequently he is much better," rejoined his mistress. "But, Harvey,
who is this Mr. Sumter?"
A slight indication of humor showed itself on the face of the peddler,
but it disappeared, and he continued as if the discourse had met with no
interruption from the sensitiveness of the domestic.
"As I was saying, he lives among the colored people in the
south"--Caesar resumed his occupation--"and he has lately had a
scrimmage with this Colonel Tarleton--"
"Who defeated him, of course?" cried Sarah, with confidence.
"So say the troops at Morrisania."
"But what do you say?" Mr. Wharton ventured to inquire, yet speaking in
a low tone.
"I repeat but what I hear," said Birch, offering a piece of cloth to the
inspection of Sarah, who rejected it in silence, evidently determined to
hear more before she made another purchase.
"They say, however, at the Plains," the peddler continued, first
throwing his eyes again around the room, and letting them rest for an
instant on Harper, "that Sumter and one or two more were all that were
hurt, and that the rig'lars were all cut to pieces, for the militia were
fixed snugly in a log barn.
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