News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1894-03-01
CHAPTER II,

Isam's annual runaway freak had
worried Major Worthington more than
anything of like importance he had
ever confronted. He cared not an iota
for his lost time, nor for his bad ox-
ample, but it CALLED him to think that
there was anything in connection with
D negro that he could not fathom. In
This old negro he had at last found
cunning and mystery that evaded his
penetration. Study as he might, no
satisfactory explanation could ever be
secured. Year after year about the 1st
of July his factotum failed to appear,
and the place that had known him so
long knew bila no more for fortnight.
1t was seldom that the major ever
threatened q servant. Never before in
his life had a threat been leveled at
Isam, who was d privileged character
about the house. 1t was not surpris-
ing therefore that just before daybreak
next morning a knock was heard at the
majors window. That individual un-
derstood it, and quietly donning his
clothes went outside, assured that he
would find Isam ON hand. He was not
mistaken.
Its dun struck me, Mass Craffud,
en- rs 'biged ter go, said Isam.
"AhI' said the major, then We'll
talk it over first. "
Isam sat upon the steps, the major in
his old rocker, and talk it over they
did, until pale glimmer trembled in
the east. What passed between them
no one ever learned, but finally the ma
jor rose, and preceded by Isam, who
bore pack that gave him the appear
out straight across the fence ar.s. ~
fields, disappearing in the woods be-
yond. Only the hounds knew when they
left, and these tugged at their chains
with noisy pleadings, but in vain.
When day finally rolled in with stream
ing banners, Woodhaven was without
its master, and the overseer, too much
accustomed to the eccentricities of that
absent power to worry over his sudden
departure, reigned in his stead.
The path of the runaways led first di-
rectly past a growth of plum bushes, an
acre in extent, that stood out in the
open field, small forest in itself.
This was the burial ground, where with
out regard to order or system the graves
of departed negroes, covered with bits
of glass, broken cups, abandoned cans
and other treasures of the trash heap,
dotted the shadowy depths. These
glimmered family in the gray half
light, and Isam shivered slightly as he
passed. The movement did not escape
the notice of the major, who smiled
grimly as he said;
"You don't come this way, 1sam,
when you run off by yourself. "
The sound of a human voice was reas-
suring, and the negro answered cheerily
"Yessir. Ain nuthin go'n ter tech
ole Isam. All dem n dere is dun boun
en- sot.'
"And what the deuce is bound and
sot?''
The majors inquiry betrayed impa-
tience rather than curiosity. He knew
well how secretive is the negro of any
class when interrogated in connection
with his superstitions. Isam shook his
head.
"Lor sakes, Mass Craffud, dom you
know all boat dat?''
NO." said the major testify; eff
did / wouldn't be wasting breath asking
a fool niger"
"Well, said Isam, willing to COM
promise in the interest of peace, "w'en er
sperrit gifts out n de flesh, de only way
hit can be boun en- sot c3 ter plug Ell
tree" He estepped in front of broken
pine near the path and examined it crit
ically. ''Dere's er plug roun hyah fur
nifty nigh ev'y wun dem graves, ef
yer knows where ter look.
"What do you mean by this nonsense,
Isam? Do you expect me to swallow
such stuff"
-' Hits er fac, Mass Craffud- Dere'
now, dere's er plug. sho' nutf. T"
Years before-Major Worthington re-
membered it then-he had come acros:
a split pine from which half dozen Of
these plugs had fallen and was surpris