“ I did notice and I certainly thank you, Sam. Well, how would you like to be my carriage man?”
“ Miss Scarlett, thankee, Ma’m, but Ah specs Ah better go ter Tara.”
Big Sam looked down and his bare toe traced aimless marks in the road. There was a furtive uneasiness about him.
“ Now, why? I’ll pay you good wages. You must stay with me.”
The big black face, stupid and as easily read as a child’s, looked up at her and there was fear in it. He came closer and, leaning over the side of the buggy, whispered:
“ Miss Scarlett, Ah got ter git outer ‘Lanta. Ah got ter git ter Tara whar dey woan fine me. Ah — Ah done kilt a man.”
“ A darky?”
“ No’m. A w’ite man. A Yankee sojer and dey’s lookin’ fer me. Dat de reason Ah’m hyah at Shantytown.”
“ How did it happen?”
“ He wuz drunk an’
