Neither of them spoke for a minute, and then he said, “If it’s agreeable to you, I thought we might spend several hours just getting to know each other. That is, before we begin the formal account of your life. That is, one should know, don’t you think, a little about who one’s biographer is?” He began, “I am a physician who—”

“Dr. Seaver.”

“Yes?”

“You have been studying me. I have already studied you. I know much about you. Do you see my hair?”

“Well—yes.”

“It is going gray. But for this hour, I still have it. No one has scalped me yet. For this hour, I am still able to tell you my story. You are willing to receive it. This would be a good hour in which to begin.”

He stared for a moment and then said, “Of course.” He opened his green-covered notebook and closed it again. “All these years—” He hesitated. “All these years,” he repeated, and then rushed through the rest of his sentence—“you have been drinking the nauseous dregs of the bitter cup of slavery.” He raised his thick eyebrows encouragingly, but it occurred to him that what he had just said sounded a trifle ridiculous.

“Pardon me. What are ‘dregs’?”

This question startled him. “Ah, well, the sediment— the lees; ah, the basest portion of a liquid.”

“In the bottom of a bowl.”

“Yes.”

She considered and her eyes seemed to flash. “Some should no doubt have their lives described this way, but I hardly recognize myself in what you say.” Without pausing she said, “My first memories are of my father, a door, a wall, the hills—” But then she seemed to falter.

“Yes?”

“My strongest first memory is of my father, a door, a wall, the hills, a sledge, and the snow.”

“I beg your pardon?” He was struggling, trying not to stare, still getting used to her appearance, trying to take her in.

THAT night, after the first day’s interview, in the privacy of the room to which Mrs. Whaley had shown him by the light of a candle, James wrote some notes:

Appearance

complexion is very white
wrinkles
crimson of youth is distinctly visible
sight is fairly dim, according to the subject— now that she would have an opportunity to learn to read again, she cannot do so
cheekbones are high and rather prominent
hair quite gray, a little curled, of middling length
walks with a quick step without a staff
I was informed by Mr. Clute that she could yet cross a stream on a log or pole as steadily as any other person

stands tolerably erect, with her head bent forward, apparently from her having for a long time been accustomed to carrying heavy bur- dens in a strap placed across her forehead

Dress

shirt, short gown, petticoat, stockings