It 's the last time!

  S'pose we must be resigned; but, O Lord! how ken I? If I know'd anything whar you 's goin', or how they 'd sarve you! Missis says she 'll try and 'deem ye in a year or two; but, Lor! nobody never comes up that goes down that! They kills 'em! I 've hearn 'em tell how dey works 'em up on dem ar plantations.

  There 'll be the same God there, Chloe, that there is here.

  Well, s'pose dere will; but de Lord lets drefful things happen, sometimes. I don't seem to get no comfort day way.

  I'm in the Lord's hands; nothin' can go no furder than he lets it; and thar's one thing I can thank him for. It's me that's sold and going down, and not you nur the chil'en. Here you're safe; what comes will come only on me; and the Lord, he'll help me—I know he will. [A sob.] Let 's think on our marcies!

  Marcies! don't see no marcy in 't! 'tan't right! tan't

  Chloe! now, if ye love me, ye won't talk so, when mebbe jest the last time we'll ever have together! And I'll tell ye, Chloe, it goes agin me to hear one word agin mas'r. Wan't he put in my arms a baby? It 's natur I should think a heap of him. And he could n't be 'spected to think so much of poor Tom. Mas'rs is used to havin' all these yer things done for 'em, and nat'lly they don't think so much on 't. They can't be 'spected to, no way. Set him 'longside of other mas'rs—who 's had the treatment and the livin' I have had? And he never would have let this yer come on me, if he could have seed it aforehand. I know he would n't.

  Wal, any way, thar's wrong about it somewhar, I can't jest make out whar 't is, but thar's wrong somewhar, I'm clar o' that.

  Yer ought ter look up to the Lord above—he's above all—thar don't a sparrow fall without him.

  It don't seem to comfort me, but I 'spect it ort fur ter. But dar's no use talkin'; I 'll jes get up de corn-cake, and get ye one good breakfast, 'cause nobody knows when you 'll get another.

  Lor, Pete, ha'n't we got a buster of a breakfast!

  Thar now! crowing over the last breakfast yer poor daddy 's gwine to have to home.

  O, Chloe!

  Wal, I can't help it! I 's so tossed about it, it makes me act ugly. Thar! now I 's done, I hope—now do eat something. This yer 's my nicest chicken. Thar, boys, ye shall have some, poor critturs! Yer mammy's been cross to yer. [The boys eat.] Now, I must put up yer clothes. Jest like as not, he 'll take 'em all away. I know thar ways—mean as dirt, they is! Wal, now, yer flannels for rhumatis is in this corner; so be careful, 'cause t here won't nobody make ye no more. Then here 's yer old shirts, and these yer is new ones. I toed off these yer stockings last night, and put de ball in 'em to mend with. But Lor! who 'll ever mend for ye? [Sobbing.] To think on 't! no crittur to do for ye, sick or well! I don't railly think I ought ter be good now! [Baby crows.] Ay, crow away, poor crittur! ye'll have to come to it, too! ye'll live to see yer husband sold, or mebbe be sold yerself; and these yer boys, they 's to be sold, I s'pose, too, jest like as not, when dey gets good for somethin'; an't no use in niggers havin' nothin'!

  That's missis a-comin' in!

  She can't do no good; what 's she coming for?

  Tom, I come to ——

  Lor, now, missis, don't—don't. [All weep.]

  My good fellow, I can't give you anything to do you any good. If I give you money, it will only be taken from you. But I tell you solemnly, and before God, that I will keep trace of you, and bring you back as soon as I can command the money; and, till then, trust in God!

  Mas'r Haley 's coming!

  Come, ye nigger, yer ready? Servant, ma'm. [To MRS. SHELBY.]

  Why, Chloe, you bar it better 'n we do!

  I 'se done my tears! I does n't feel to cry 'fore day ar old limb, nohow!

  Get in!

  Mr. Haley, I assure you that precaution is entirely unnecessary.

  Don't know, ma'am; I 've lost one five hundred dollars from this ere place, and I can't afford to run no more risks.

  What else could she 'spect on him?

  I 'm sorry that Mas'r George happened to be away.

  I declare it 's real mean! I don't care what they say, any of 'em! It 's a nasty, mean shame! If I was a man they should n't do it—they should not, so!

  O, Mas'r George! this does me good! I could n't bar to go off without seein' ye! It does me real good, ye can't tell!

  What a shame! I 'll knock that old fellow down—I will!

  No, you won't, Mas'r George; and you must not talk so loud. It won't help me any to anger him.

  Well, I won't then, for your sake; but only to think of it—is n't it a shame? They never sent for me, nor sent me any word, and if it hadn't been for Tom Lincoln, I should n't have heard it. I tell you, I blew 'em up well, all of 'em, at home!

  That ar was n't right, I 'm feared, Mas'r George.

  Can't help it! I say it 's a shame! Look here, Uncle Tom, I've brought you my dollar!

  O! I could n't think o' takin' on 'it, Mas'r George, no ways in the world!

  But you shall take it! Look here; I told Aunt Chloe I'd do it, and she advised me just to make a hole in it, and put a string through, so you could hang it round your neck, and keep it out of sight; else this mean scamp would take it away. I tell ye, Tom, I want to blow him up! it would do me good!

  No, don't, Mas'r George, for it won't do me any good.

  Well, I won't, for your sake; but there, now, button your coat tight over it, and keep it, and remember, every time you see it, that I'll come down after you, and bring you back. Aunt Chloe and I have been talking about it. I told her not to fear, I 'll see to it, and I 'll tease father's life out, if he don't do it.

  O, Mas'r George, ye must n't talk so 'bout yer father!

  Lor, Uncle Tom, I don't mean anything bad.

  And now, Mas'r George, ye must be a good boy; 'member how many hearts is sot on ye. Al'ays keep close to yer mother. Don't be gettin' into any of them foolish ways boys has, of getting too big to mind their mothers. Tell ye what, Mas'r George, the Lord gives good many things twice over, but he don't give ye a mother but once. Ye 'll never see sich another woman, Mas'r George, if ye live to be a hundred years old. So, now, you hold on to her, and grow up, and be a comfort to her, thar's my own good boy—you will now, won't ye?

  Yes, I will, Uncle Tom!

  And be careful of yer speaking, Mas'r George. Young boys, when they comes to your age, is willful, sometimes—it 's natur' they should be. But real gentlemen, such as I hopes you 'll be, never lets fall no words that is n't 'spectful to thar parents. Ye an't 'fended, Mas'r George!

  No, indeed, Uncle Tom; you always did give me good advice.

  I 's older, ye knows, and I sees all that 's bound up in you. O, Mas'r George, you has everything—l'arnin', privileges, readin', writin',—and you 'll grow up to be a great, learned, good man, and all the people on the place, and your mother and father 'll be so proud on ye! Be a good mas'r, like yer father; and be a Christian, like yer mother. 'Member yer Creator in the days o' yer youth, Mas'r George.

  I'll be real good, Uncle Tom, I tell you. I'm going to be a first-rater; and don't you be discouraged. I 'll have you back to the place, yet. As I told Aunt Chloe this morning, I 'll build your house all over, and you shall have a room for a parlor, with a carpet on it, when I 'm a man. O, you 'll have good times yet!