Publisher's Synopsis
coach and in those glowing embers, he saw but one picture, and its horrors were constantly haunting his mind. The other guests talked and laughed while their soaked clothes were drying, but Mr. Tompkins was silent, whether sitting or standing. Almost before their clothes were dry supper was announced, and they all repaired to the long, low dining room and seated themselves at the table. The supper, plain and substantial, was just suited to the needs of the hungry guests. The evening meal over, they returned to the sitting room. The Southerner had lit a cigar, and kept up a constant flow of conversation. "Virginia is too near the Free-soilers," he said, evidently directing his remarks to Mr. Tompkins; "don't they come over here and steal your niggers?" "They never have," Mr. Tompkins answered. "I take it for granted you own slaves?" "Yes, sir; I have a number on my plantation, and never have had one stolen yet." "Don't the 'Barnburners, ' 'Wooly Heads' and Abolit
