(Enter Topsy.

  TOPSY. (In an undertone.) What's de matter wid dis chile? I isn't a bit like myself. Ever since Miss Evy talked to me I ain't been wicked once. When I'se a gwine to stole suthin, I thinks of her, and I feels good! I feels like a brack angel, I does! Wonder if my wings is a sproutin' yet. (She feels her shoulders.)

(Enter Ophelia.

  OPHE. Topsy——

  TOPSY. Yes, missis.

  OPHE. I have something very particular to say.

  TOPSY. What is it, Miss Feely—Cata-plasm?

  OPHE. No! But this day Mr. St. Clair has given me an authority to call you mine.

  TOPSY. Golly, dat's fun! Den you b'longs to me, Miss Feely?

  OPHE. And I shall give you your liberty!

  TOPSY. Give him to me, Miss Feely; whar is he?

  OPHE. Don't you know what liberty is?

  TOPSY. Is it clothes, or wittles, or which?

  OPHE. You shiftless ignoramus. I shall soon be returning to my home in Vermont, and I shall take you with me.

  TOPSY. Is dar any overseers dar, Miss Feely?

  OPHE. No.

  TOPSY. Nor plantations, not black holes, nor cowhides?

  OPHE. Nothing of the kind.

  TOPSY. Come on den, Miss Feely; sooner we gits dar de better.

  OPHE. Not so loud, Topsy! The shadow of death is hovering about us.

  TOPSY. Whar? Golly! Keep him away from me, Miss Feely!

(Enter Tom.

  OPHE. What news, Uncle Tom?

  TOM. I was sent for you, Miss Feely.

  OPHE. Who sent you?

  TOM. Mas'r St. Clair. Oh, Miss Feely, de message has come at last!

  OPHE. What do you mean?

  TOM. Dey say dat Miss Evy won't live de night! Oh, Miss Feely, when dat blessed chile goes into de kingdom, dey'll open de do' so wide dat we'll all have a peep at de glory!

  TOPSY. (Howls.)

  OPHE. Silence, you shiftless hussy!

  TOPSY. H—e—ow! (Gulps it down.)

  OPHE. Quick, then, Uncle Tom. Come with me to the pavilion. (Exit.)

  TOPSY. Oh, Miss Evy! Oho—he—ow! (Howls.)

  TOM. What do you howl for—eh, Topsy?

  TOPSY. Cos she loved me, she did. Wish I was gwine to die too, I does, I does!

  TOM. If you love her, den, jest creep round to de pavilion, and look once mo' on de little angel fore she flies away to heaven.

(Exit Tom.

  TOPSY. Oh, she's a gwine to fly widout me, and dar's no one left to teach me but de ole gander, and he can't fly no higher dan my knee. I'd jest wish I'd never been born. I didn't want to be born, and I don't see de use on it, no how. Ah! I knows what I'll do! I'll steal a rose and put it in Miss Evy's hand, and den she'll 'member Topsy when she's a flying around up dar!

(Exit.