IOLA LEROY, OR

SHADOWS UPLIFTED. 

BY

FRANCES E. W. HARPER. 

1893, Philadelphia

TO MY DAUGHTER

MARY E. HARPER, THIS BOOK IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED. 

INTRODUCTION. 

I confess when I first learned that Mrs. Harper was about to write "astory" on some features of the Anglo-African race, growing out of whatwas once popularly known as the "peculiar institution, " I had my doubtsabout the matter. Indeed it was far from being easy for me to think thatshe was as fortunate as she might have been in selecting a subject whichwould afford her the best opportunity for bringing out a work of meritand lasting worth to the race--such a work as some of her personalfriends have long desired to see from her graphic pen. However, afterhearing a good portion of the manuscript read, and a general statementwith regard to the object in view, I admit frankly that my partialindifference was soon swept away; at least I was willing to wait forfurther developments. 

Being very desirous that one of the race, so long distinguished in thecause of freedom for her intellectual worth as Mrs. Harper has had thehonor of being, should not at this late date in life make a blunderwhich might detract from her own good name, I naturally proposed toawait developments before deciding too quickly in favor of givingencouragement to her contemplated effort. 

However, I was perfectly aware of the fact that she had much material inher possession for a most interesting book on the subject of thecondition of the colored people in the South. I know of no other woman, white or colored, anywhere, who has come so intimately in contact withthe colored people in the South as Mrs. Harper. Since emancipation shehas labored in every Southern State in the Union, save two, Arkansas andTexas; in the colleges, schools, churches, and the cabins not excepted, she has found a vast field and open doors to teach and speak on thethemes of education, temperance, and good home building, industry, morality, and the like, and never lacked for evidences of heartyappreciation and gratitude. 

Everywhere help was needed, and her heart being deeply absorbed in thecause she willingly allowed her sympathies to impel her to perform mostheroic services. 

With her it was no uncommon occurrence, in visiting cities or towns, tospeak at two, three, and four meetings a day; sometimes to promiscuousaudiences composed of everybody who would care to come. 

But the kind of meetings she took greatest interest in were meetingscalled exclusively for women. In this attitude she could pour out hersympathies to them as she could not do before a mixed audience; andindeed she felt their needs were far more pressing than any other class. 

And now I am prepared to most fully indorse her story. I doubt whethershe could, if she had tried ever so much, have hit upon a subject sowell adapted to reach a large number of her friends and the public withboth entertaining and instructive matter as successfully as she has donein this volume. 

The grand and ennobling sentiments which have characterized all herutterances in laboring for the elevation of the oppressed will not befound missing in this book. 

The previous books from her pen, which have been so very widelycirculated and admired, North and South--"Forest Leaves, " "MiscellaneousPoems, " "Moses, a Story of the Nile, " "Poems, " and "Sketches of SouthernLife" (five in number)--these, I predict, will be by far eclipsed bythis last effort, which will, in all probability, be the crowning effortof her long and valuable services in the cause of humanity. 

While, as indicated, Mrs. Harper has done a large amount of work in theSouth, she has at the same time done much active service in thetemperance cause in the North, as thousands of this class can testify. 

Before the war she was engaged as a speaker by anti-slaveryassociations; since then, by appointment of the Women's ChristianTemperance Union, she has held the office of "Superintendent of ColoredWork" for years. She has also held the office of one of the Directors ofthe Women's Congress of the United States. 

Under the auspices of these influential, earnest, and intelligentassociations, she has been seen often on their platforms with theleading lady orators of the nation. 

Hence, being widely known not only amongst her own race but likewise bythe reformers, laboring for the salvation of the intemperate and othersequally unfortunate, there is little room to doubt that the book will bein great demand and will meet with warm congratulations from a goodlynumber outside of the author's social connections. 

Doubtless the thousands of colored Sunday-schools in the South, incasting about for an interesting, moral story-book, full of practicallessons, will not be content to be without "IOLA LEROY, OR SHADOWSUPLIFTED. "

WILLIAM STILL. 

CONTENTS. 

Chapter

I. The Mystery of Market Speech and Prayer Meetings

II. Contraband of War

III. Uncle Daniel's Story

IV. Arrival of the Union Army

V. Release of Iola Leroy

VI. Robert Johnson's Promotion and Religion

VII. Tom Anderson's Death

VIII. The Mystified Doctor

IX. Eugene Leroy and Alfred Lorraine

X. Shadows in the Home

XI. The Plague and the Law

XII. School-girl Notions

XIII. A Rejected Suitor

XIV. Harry Leroy

XV. Robert and his Company

XVI. After the Battle

XVII. Flames in the School-Room

XVIII. Searching for Lost Ones

XIX. Striking Contrasts

XX. A Revelation

XXI. A Home for Mother

XXII. Further Lifting of the Veil

XXIII. Delightful Reunions

XXIV. Northern Experience

XXV. An Old Friend

XXVI. Open Questions

XXVII. Diverging Paths

XXVIII. Dr. Latrobe's Mistake

XXIX. Visitors from the South

XXX. Friends in Council

XXXI. Dawning Affections

XXXII. Wooing and Wedding

XXXIII. Conclusion

Note

CHAPTER I. 

MYSTERY OF MARKET SPEECH AND PRAYER-MEETING. 

"Good mornin', Bob; how's butter dis mornin'?"

"Fresh; just as fresh, as fresh can be. "

"Oh, glory!" said the questioner, whom we shall call Thomas Anderson, although he was known among his acquaintances as Marster Anderson's Tom. 

His informant regarding the condition of the market was Robert Johnson, who had been separated from his mother in his childhood and reared byhis mistress as a favorite slave. She had fondled him as a pet animal, and even taught him to read. Notwithstanding their relation as mistressand slave, they had strong personal likings for each other. 

Tom Anderson was the servant of a wealthy planter, who lived in the cityof C----, North Carolina. This planter was quite advanced in life, butin his earlier days he had spent much of his time in talking politics inhis State and National capitals in winter, and in visiting pleasureresorts and watering places in summer. His plantations were left to thecare of overseers who, in their turn, employed negro drivers to aid themin the work of cultivation and discipline. But as the infirmities of agewere pressing upon him he had withdrawn from active life, and given themanagement of his affairs into the hands of his sons. As Robert Johnsonand Thomas Anderson passed homeward from the market, having boughtprovisions for their respective homes, they seemed to be verylight-hearted and careless, chatting and joking with each other; butevery now and then, after looking furtively around, one would drop intothe ears of the other some news of the battle then raging between theNorth and South which, like two great millstones, were grinding slaveryto powder. 

As they passed along, they were met by another servant, who said inhurried tones, but with a glad accent in his voice:--

"Did you see de fish in de market dis mornin'? Oh, but dey war splendid, jis' as fresh, as fresh kin be. "

"That's the ticket, " said Robert, as a broad smile overspread his face. "I'll see you later. "

"Good mornin', boys, " said another servant on his way to market. "How'seggs dis mornin'?"

"Fust rate, fust rate, " said Tom Anderson. "Bob's got it down fine. "

"I thought so; mighty long faces at de pos'-office dis mornin'; but I'dbetter move 'long, " and with a bright smile lighting up his face hepassed on with a quickened tread. 

There seemed to be an unusual interest manifested by these men in thestate of the produce market, and a unanimous report of its goodcondition. Surely there was nothing in the primeness of the butter orthe freshness of the eggs to change careless looking faces into suchexpressions of gratification, or to light dull eyes with such gladness. What did it mean?

During the dark days of the Rebellion, when the bondman was turning hiseyes to the American flag, and learning to hail it as an ensign ofdeliverance, some of the shrewder slaves, coming in contact with theirmasters and overhearing their conversations, invented a phraseology toconvey in the most unsuspected manner news to each other from thebattle-field. Fragile women and helpless children were left on theplantations while their natural protectors were at the front, and yetthese bondmen refrained from violence. Freedom was coming in the wake ofthe Union army, and while numbers deserted to join their forces, othersremained at home, slept in their cabins by night and attended to theirwork by day; but under this apparently careless exterior there was anundercurrent of thought which escaped the cognizance of their masters. In conveying tidings of the war, if they wished to announce a victory ofthe Union army, they said the butter was fresh, or that the fish andeggs were in good condition. If defeat befell them, then the butter andother produce were rancid or stale. 

Entering his home, Robert set his basket down. In one arm he held abundle of papers which he had obtained from the train to sell to theboarders, who were all anxious to hear from the seat of battle. Heslipped one copy out and, looking cautiously around, said to Linda, thecook, in a low voice:--

"Splendid news in the papers. Secesh routed. Yankees whipped 'em out oftheir boots. Papers full of it. I tell you the eggs and the butter'smighty fresh this morning. "

"Oh, sho, chile, " said Linda, "I can't read de newspapers, but oleMissus' face is newspaper nuff for me. I looks at her ebery mornin' wenshe comes inter dis kitchen. Ef her face is long an' she walks kine o'droopy den I thinks things is gwine wrong for dem. But ef she comes outyere looking mighty pleased, an' larffin all ober her face, an' steppin'so frisky, den I knows de Secesh is gittin' de bes' ob de Yankees. Robby, honey, does you really b'lieve for good and righty dat demYankees is got horns?"

"Of course not. "

"Well, I yered so. "

"Well, you heard a mighty big whopper. "

"Anyhow, Bobby, things goes mighty contrary in dis house. Ole Miss is inde parlor prayin' for de Secesh to gain de day, and we's prayin' in decabins and kitchens for de Yankees to get de bes' ob it. But wasn't MissNancy glad wen dem Yankees run'd away at Bull's Run. It was nuffin butBull's Run an' run away Yankees. How she did larff and skip 'bout dehouse. An' den me thinks to myself you'd better not holler till you gitsout ob de woods. I specs 'fore dem Yankees gits froo you'll be larffintother side ob your mouf. While you was gone to market ole Miss com'dout yere, her face looking as long as my arm, tellin' us all 'bout dewar and saying dem Yankees whipped our folks all to pieces. And she was'fraid dey'd all be down yere soon. I thought they couldn't come toosoon for we. But I didn't tell her so. "

"No, I don't expect you did. "

"No, I didn't; ef you buys me for a fool you loses your money shore. Shesaid when dey com'd down yere she wanted all de men to hide, for dey'dkill all de men, but dey wouldn't tech de women. "

"It's no such thing. She's put it all wrong. Why them Yankees are ourbest friends. "

"Dat's jis' what I thinks. Ole Miss was jis' tryin to skeer a body. An'when she war done she jis' set down and sniffled an' cried, an' I war soglad I didn't know what to do. But I had to hole in. An' I made out Iwar orful sorry. An' Jinny said, 'O Miss Nancy, I hope dey won't comeyere. ' An' she said, 'I'se jis' 'fraid dey will come down yere andgobble up eberything dey can lay dere hands on. ' An' she jis' looked asef her heart war mos' broke, an' den she went inter de house. An' whenshe war gone, we jis' broke loose. Jake turned somersets, and said hewarnt 'fraid ob dem Yankees; he know'd which side his brad was butteredon. Dat Jake is a cuter. When he goes down ter git de letters he cuts upall kines ob shines and capers. An' to look at him skylarking dere whilede folks is waitin' for dere letters, an' talkin' bout de war, yerwouldn't think dat boy had a thimbleful of sense. But Jake's listenin'all de time wid his eyes and his mouf wide open, an' ketchin' eberythinghe kin, an' a heap ob news he gits dat way. As to Jinny, she jis'capered and danced all ober de flore. An' I jis' had to put my han' oberher mouf to keep ole Miss from yereing her. Oh, but we did hab a goodtime. Boy, yer oughter been yere. "

"And, Aunt Linda, what did you do?"

"Oh, honey, I war jis' ready to crack my sides larffin, jis' to see whata long face Jinny puts on wen ole Miss is talkin', an' den to see datface wen missus' back is turned, why it's good as a circus. It's nuff tomake a horse larff. "

"Why, Aunt Linda, you never saw a circus?"

"No, but I'se hearn tell ob dem, and I thinks dey mus' be mighty funny. An' I know it's orful funny to see how straight Jinny's face looks wenshe's almos' ready to bust, while ole Miss is frettin' and fumin' 'boutdem Yankees an' de war. But, somehow, Robby, I ralely b'lieves dat wecullud folks is mixed up in dis fight. I seed it all in a vision. An'soon as dey fired on dat fort, Uncle Dan'el says to me: 'Linda, we'sgwine to git our freedom. ' An' I says: 'Wat makes you think so?" An' hesays: 'Dey've fired on Fort Sumter, an' de Norf is boun' to whip. '"

"I hope so, " said Robert. "I think that we have a heap of friends upthere. "

"Well, I'm jis' gwine to keep on prayin' an' b'lievin'. "

Just then the bell rang, and Robert, answering, found Mrs. Johnsonsuffering from a severe headache, which he thought was occasioned by herworrying over the late defeat of the Confederates. She sent him on anerrand, which he executed with his usual dispatch, and returned to somework which he had to do in the kitchen. Robert was quite a favorite withAunt Linda, and they often had confidential chats together. 

"Bobby, " she said, when he returned, "I thinks we ort ter hab aprayer-meetin' putty soon. "

"I am in for that. Where will you have it?"

"Lem me see. Las' Sunday we had it in Gibson's woods; Sunday 'fore las', in de old cypress swamp; an' nex' Sunday we'el hab one in McCullough'swoods. Las' Sunday we had a good time. I war jis' chock full an' runnin'ober. Aunt Milly's daughter's bin monin all summer, an' she's jis' comethroo. We had a powerful time. Eberythin' on dat groun' was jis' alive. I tell yer, dere was a shout in de camp. "

"Well, you had better look out, and not shout too much, and pray andsing too loud, because, 'fore you know, the patrollers will be on yourtrack and break up your meetin' in a mighty big hurry, before you cansay 'Jack Robinson. '"

"Oh, we looks out for dat. We's got a nice big pot, dat got cracked las'winter, but it will hole a lot o' water, an' we puts it whar we can tellit eberything. We has our own good times. An' I want you to come Sundaynight an' tell all 'bout the good eggs, fish, and butter. Mark my words, Bobby, we's all gwine to git free. I seed it all in a vision, as plainas de nose on yer face. "

"Well, I hope your vision will come out all right, and that the eggswill keep and the butter be fresh till we have our next meetin'. "

"Now, Bob, you sen' word to Uncle Dan'el, Tom Anderson, an' de rest obdem, to come to McCullough's woods nex' Sunday night. I want to hab asin-killin' an' debil-dribin' time. But, boy, you'd better git out eryere. Ole Miss'll be down on yer like a scratch cat. "

Although the slaves were denied unrestricted travel, and the holding ofmeetings without the surveillance of a white man, yet they contrived tomeet by stealth and hold gatherings where they could mingle theirprayers and tears, and lay plans for escaping to the Union army. Outwitting the vigilance of the patrollers and home guards, theyestablished these meetings miles apart, extending into several States. 

Sometimes their hope of deliverance was cruelly blighted by hearing ofsome adventurous soul who, having escaped to the Union army, had beenpursued and returned again to bondage. Yet hope survived all thesedisasters which gathered around the fate of their unfortunate brethren, who were remanded to slavery through the undiscerning folly of those whowere strengthening the hands which were dealing their deadliest blows atthe heart of the Nation. But slavery had cast such a glamour over theNation, and so warped the consciences of men, that they failed to readaright the legible transcript of Divine retribution which was writtenupon the shuddering earth, where the blood of God's poor children hadbeen as water freely spilled. 

CHAPTER II. 

CONTRABAND OF WAR. 

A few evenings after this conversation between Robert and Linda, aprayer-meeting was held. Under the cover of night a few dusky figuresmet by stealth in McCullough's woods. 

"Howdy, " said Robert, approaching Uncle Daniel, the leader of theprayer-meeting, who had preceded him but a few minutes. 

"Thanks and praise; I'se all right. How is you, chile?"

"Oh, I'm all right, " said Robert, smiling, and grasping Uncle Daniel'shand. 

"What's de news?" exclaimed several, as they turned their faces eagerlytowards Robert. 

"I hear, " said Robert, "that they are done sending the runaways back totheir masters. "

"Is dat so?" said a half dozen earnest voices. "How did you yere it?"

"I read it in the papers. And Tom told me he heard them talking about itlast night, at his house. How did you hear it, Tom? Come, tell us allabout it. "

Tom Anderson hesitated a moment, and then said:--

"Now, boys, I'll tell you all 'bout it. But you's got to be mighty mum'bout it. It won't do to let de cat outer de bag. "

"Dat's so! But tell us wat you yered. We ain't gwine to say nuffin tonobody. "

"Well, " said Tom, "las' night ole Marster had company. Two bigginerals, and dey was hoppin' mad. One ob dem looked like a turkeygobbler, his face war so red. An' he sed one ob dem Yankee ginerals, Ithinks dey called him Beas' Butler, sed dat de slaves dat runned awaywar some big name--I don't know what he called it. But it meant dat allob we who com'd to de Yankees should be free. "

"Contraband of war, " said Robert, who enjoyed the distinction of being agood reader, and was pretty well posted about the war. Mrs. Johnson hadtaught him to read on the same principle she would have taught a petanimal amusing tricks. She had never imagined the time would come whenhe would use the machinery she had put in his hands to help overthrowthe institution to which she was so ardently attached. 

"What does it mean? Is it somethin' good for us?"

"I think, " said Robert, a little vain of his superior knowledge, "it isthe best kind of good. It means if two armies are fighting and thehorses of one run away, the other has a right to take them. And it isjust the same if a slave runs away from the Secesh to the Union lines. He is called a contraband, just the same as if he were an ox or a horse. They wouldn't send the horses back, and they won't send us back. "

"Is dat so?" said Uncle Daniel, a dear old father, with a look ofsaintly patience on his face. "Well, chillen, what do you mean to do?"

"Go, jis' as soon as we kin git to de army, " said Tom Anderson. 

"What else did the generals say? And how did you come to hear them, Tom?" asked Robert Johnson. 

"Well, yer see, Marster's too ole and feeble to go to de war, but hisheart's in it. An' it makes him feel good all ober when dem big gineralscomes an' tells him all 'bout it. Well, I war laying out on de porchfas' asleep an' snorin' drefful hard. Oh, I war so soun' asleep dat wenMarster wanted some ice-water he had to shake me drefful hard to wake meup. An' all de time I war wide 'wake as he war. "

"What did they say?" asked Robert, who was always on the lookout fornews from the battle-field. 

"One ob dem said, dem Yankees war talkin' of puttin' guns in our han'sand settin' us all free. An' de oder said, 'Oh, sho! ef dey puts guns indere hands dey'll soon be in our'n; and ef dey sets em free dey wouldn'tknow how to take keer ob demselves. '"

"Only let 'em try it, " chorused a half dozen voices, "an' dey'll soonsee who'll git de bes' ob de guns; an' as to taking keer ob ourselves, Ispecs we kin take keer ob ourselves as well as take keer ob dem. "

"Yes, " said Tom, "who plants de cotton and raises all de crops?"

 "'They eat the meat and give us the bones, Eat the cherries and give us the stones, '

"And I'm getting tired of the whole business, " said Robert. 

"But, Bob, " said Uncle Daniel, "you've got a good owner. You don't habto run away from bad times and wuss a comin'. "

"It isn't so good, but it might be better. I ain't got nothing 'gainstmy ole Miss, except she sold my mother from me. And a boy ain't nothin'without his mother. I forgive her, but I never forget her, and neverexpect to. But if she were the best woman on earth I would rather havemy freedom than belong to her. Well, boys, here's a chance for us justas soon as the Union army gets in sight. What will you do?"

"I'se a goin, " said Tom Anderson, "jis' as soon as dem Linkum soldiersgits in sight. "

"An' I'se a gwine wid you, Tom, " said another. "I specs my oleMarster'll feel right smart lonesome when I'se gone, but I don't keer'bout stayin' for company's sake. "

"My ole Marster's room's a heap better'n his company, " said TomAnderson, "an' I'se a goner too. Dis yer freedom's too good to be lef'behind, wen you's got a chance to git it. I won't stop to bid ole Marsegood bye. "

"What do you think, " said Robert, turning to Uncle Daniel; "won't you gowith us?"

"No, chillen, I don't blame you for gwine; but I'se gwine to stay. Slavery's done got all de marrow out ob dese poor ole bones. Ef freedomcomes it won't do me much good; we ole one's will die out, but it willset you youngsters all up. "

"But, Uncle Daniel, you're not too old to want your freedom?"

"I knows dat. I lubs de bery name of freedom. I'se been praying andhoping for it dese many years. An' ef I warn't boun', I would go wid youter-morrer. I won't put a straw in your way. You boys go, and my prayerswill go wid you. I can't go, it's no use. I'se gwine to stay on de oleplace till Marse Robert comes back, or is brought back. "

"But, Uncle Daniel, " said Robert, "what's the use of praying for athing if, when it comes, you won't take it? As much as you have beenpraying and talking about freedom, I thought that when the chance cameyou would have been one of the first to take it. Now, do tell us why youwon't go with us. Ain't you willing?"

"Why, Robbie, my whole heart is wid you. But when Marse Robert went tode war, he called me into his room and said to me, 'Uncle Dan'el, I'segwine to de war, an' I want you to look arter my wife an' chillen, an'see dat eberything goes right on de place'. An' I promised him I'd do it, an' I mus' be as good as my word. 'Cept de overseer, dere isn't a whiteman on de plantation, an' I hear he has to report ter-morrer or betreated as a deserter. An' der's nobody here to look arter Miss Mary an'de chillen, but myself, an' to see dat eberything goes right. I promisedMarse Robert I would do it, an' I mus' be as good as my word. "

"Well, what should you keer?" said Tom Anderson. "Who looked arter youwhen you war sole from your farder and mudder, an' neber seed dem anymore, and wouldn't know dem to-day ef you met dem in your dish?"

"Well, dats neither yere nor dere. Marse Robert couldn't help what hisfather did. He war an orful mean man. But he's dead now, and gone to see'bout it. But his wife war the nicest, sweetest lady dat eber I did see. She war no more like him dan chalk's like cheese. She used to visit decabins, an' listen to de pore women when de overseer used to cruelizedem so bad, an' drive dem to work late and early. An' she used to sen'dem nice things when they war sick, and hab der cabins whitewashed an'lookin' like new pins, an' look arter dere chillen. Sometimes she'd tryto git ole Marse to take dere part when de oberseer got too mean. Butshe might as well a sung hymns to a dead horse. All her putty talk warlike porin water on a goose's back. He'd jis' bluff her off, an' tellher she didn't run dat plantation, and not for her to bring him anynigger news. I never thought ole Marster war good to her. I oftenketched her crying, an' she'd say she had de headache, but I thought itwar de heartache. 'Fore ole Marster died, she got so thin an' peaked Iwar 'fraid she war gwine to die; but she seed him out. He war killed bya tree fallin' on him, an' ef eber de debil got his own he got him. Iseed him in a vision arter he war gone. He war hangin' up in a pit, sayin' 'Oh! oh!' wid no close on. He war allers blusterin', cussin', andswearin' at somebody. Marse Robert ain't a bit like him. He takes rightarter his mother. Bad as ole Marster war, I think she jis' lob'd degroun' he walked on. Well, women's mighty curious kind of folks anyhow. I sometimes thinks de wuss you treats dem de better dey likes you. "

"Well, " said Tom, a little impatiently, "what's yer gwine to do? Is yergwine wid us, ef yer gits a chance?"

"Now, jes' you hole on till I gits a chance to tell yer why I'se gwineto stay. "

"Well, Uncle Daniel, let's hear it, " said Robert. 

"I was jes' gwine to tell yer when Tom put me out. Ole Marster died whenMarse Robert war two years ole, and his pore mother when he war four. When he died, Miss Anna used to keep me 'bout her jes' like I war hershadder. I used to nuss Marse Robert jes' de same as ef I were his ownfadder. I used to fix his milk, rock him to sleep, ride him on my back, an' nothin' pleased him better'n fer Uncle Dan'el to ride himpiggy-back. "

"Well, Uncle Daniel, " said Robert, "what has that got to do with yourgoing with us and getting your freedom?"

"Now, jes' wait a bit, and don't frustrate my mine. I seed day arter dayMiss Anna war gettin' weaker and thinner, an' she looked so sweet andtalked so putty, I thinks to myself, 'you ain't long for dis worl'. ' Andshe said to me one day, 'Uncle Dan'el, when I'se gone, I want you to begood to your Marster Robert. ' An' she looked so pale and weak I waralmost ready to cry. I couldn't help it. She hed allers bin mighty goodto me. An' I beliebs in praisin' de bridge dat carries me ober. Shesaid, 'Uncle Dan'el, I wish you war free. Ef I had my way you shouldn'tserve any one when I'm gone; but Mr. Thurston had eberything in hispower when he made his will. I war tied hand and foot, and I couldn'thelp it. ' In a little while she war gone--jis' faded away like a flower. I belieb ef dere's a saint in glory, Miss Anna's dere. "

"Oh, I don't take much stock in white folks' religion, " said Robert, laughing carelessly. 

"The way, " said Tom Anderson, "dat some of dese folks cut their cardsyere, I think dey'll be as sceece in hebben as hen's teeth. I think wensome of dem preachers brings de Bible 'round an' tells us 'bout mindinour marsters and not stealin' dere tings, dat dey preach to please dewhite folks, an' dey frows coleness ober de meetin'. "

"An' I, " said Aunt Linda, "neber did belieb in dem Bible preachers. Iyered one ob dem sayin' wen he war dyin', it war all dark wid him. An'de way he treated his house-girl, pore thing, I don't wonder dat it wardark wid him. "

"O, I guess, " said Robert, "that the Bible is all right, but some ofthese church folks don't get the right hang of it. "

"May be dat's so, " said Aunt Linda. "But I allers wanted to learn how toread. I once had a book, and tried to make out what war in it, but eberytime my mistus caught me wid a book in my hand, she used to whip myfingers. An' I couldn't see ef it war good for white folks, why itwarn't good for cullud folks. "

"Well, " said Tom Anderson, "I belieb in de good ole-time religion. Butarter dese white folks is done fussin' and beatin' de cullud folks, Idon't want 'em to come talking religion to me. We used to hab on ourplace a real Guinea man, an' once he made ole Marse mad, an' he had himwhipped. Old Marse war trying to break him in, but dat fellow war spunkto de backbone, an' when he 'gin talkin' to him 'bout savin' his soulan' gittin' to hebbin, he tole him ef he went to hebbin an' foun' he wardare, he wouldn't go in. He wouldn't stay wid any such rascal as hewar. "

"What became of him?" asked Robert. 

"Oh, he died. But he had some quare notions 'bout religion. He thoughtdat when he died he would go back to his ole country. He allers kep' hisole Guinea name. "

"What was it?"

"Potobombra. Do you know what he wanted Marster to do 'fore he died?"continued Anderson. 

"No. "

"He wanted him to gib him his free papers. "

"Did he do it?"

"Ob course he did. As de poor fellow war dying an' he couldn't sell himin de oder world, he jis' wrote him de papers to yumor him. He didn'twant to go back to Africa a slave. He thought if he did, his peoplewould look down on him, an' he wanted to go back a free man. He warorful weak when Marster brought him de free papers. He jis' ris up in debed, clutched dem in his han's, smiled, an' gasped out, 'I'se free atlas'; an' fell back on de pillar, an' he war gone. Oh, but he warspunky. De oberseers, arter dey foun' out who he war, gin'rally gabe hima wide birth. I specs his father war some ole Guinea king. "

"Well, chillen, " said Uncle Daniel, "we's kept up dis meeting longenough. We'd better go home, and not all go one way, cause de patrollersmight git us all inter trouble, an' we must try to slip home by hook orcrook. "

"An' when we meet again, Uncle Daniel can finish his story, an' be readyto go with us, " said Robert. 

"I wish, " said Tom Anderson, "he would go wid us, de wuss kind. "

CHAPTER III. 

UNCLE DANIEL'S STORY. 

The Union had snapped asunder because it lacked the cohesion of justice, and the Nation was destined to pass through the crucible of disaster anddefeat, till she was ready to clasp hands with the negro and marchabreast with him to freedom and victory. 

The Union army was encamping a few miles from C----, in North Carolina. Robert, being well posted on the condition of affairs, had stealthilycontrived to call a meeting in Uncle Daniel's cabin. Uncle Daniel's wifehad gone to bed as a sick sister, and they held a prayer-meeting by herbedside. It was a little risky, but as Mr. Thurston did not encouragethe visits of the patrollers, and heartily detested having them pryinginto his cabins, there was not much danger of molestation. 

"Well, Uncle Daniel, we want to hear your story, and see if you havemade up your mind to go with us, " said Robert, after he had been seateda few minutes in Uncle Daniel's cabin. 

"No, chillen, I've no objection to finishin' my story, but I ain't madeup my mind to leave the place till Marse Robert gits back. "

"You were telling us about Marse Robert's mother. How did you get alongafter she died?"

"Arter she war gone, ole Marster's folks come to look arter things. Buteberything war lef' to Marse Robert, an' he wouldn't do widout me. Datchile war allers at my heels. I couldn't stir widout him, an' when hemissed me, he'd fret an' cry so I had ter stay wid him; an' wen he wentto school, I had ter carry him in de mornin' and bring him home in deebenin'. An' I learned him to hunt squirrels, an' rabbits, an' ketchfish, an' set traps for birds. I beliebs he lob'd me better dan any obhis kin'. An' he showed me how to read. "

"Well, " said Tom, "ef he lob'd you so much, why didn't he set you free?"

"Marse Robert tole me, ef he died fust he war gwine ter leave mefree--dat I should neber sarve any one else. "

"Oh, sho!" said Tom, "promises, like pie crusts, is made to be broken. Idon't trust none ob dem. I'se been yere dese fifteen years, an' I'seneber foun' any troof in dem. An' I'se gwine wid dem North men soon's Igits a chance. An' ef you knowed what's good fer you, you'd go, too. "

"No, Tom; I can't go. When Marster Robert went to de front, he called meto him an' said: 'Uncle Daniel, ' an' he was drefful pale when he saidit, 'I are gwine to de war, an' I want yer to take keer of my wife an'chillen, jis' like yer used to take keer of me wen yer called me yourlittle boy. ' Well, dat jis' got to me, an' I couldn't help cryin', tosave my life. "

"I specs, " said Tom, "your tear bags must lie mighty close to your eyes. I wouldn't cry ef dem Yankees would make ebery one ob dem go to defront, an' stay dere foreber. Dey'd only be gittin' back what dey's beena doin' to us. "

"Marster Robert war nebber bad to me. An' I beliebs in stannin' by demdat stans by you. Arter Miss Anna died, I had great 'sponsibilities onmy shoulders; but I war orful lonesome, an' thought I'd like to git awife. But dere warn't a gal on de plantation, an' nowhere's roun', datfilled de bill. So I jis' waited, an' 'tended to Marse Robert till hewar ole 'nough to go to college. Wen he went, he allers 'membered me inde letters he used to write his grandma. Wen he war gone, I warlonesomer dan eber. But, one day, I jis' seed de gal dat took de rag offde bush. Gundover had jis' brought her from de up-country. She war puttyas a picture!" he exclaimed, looking fondly at his wife, who still boretraces of great beauty. "She had putty hair, putty eyes, putty mouth. She war putty all over; an' she know'd how to put on style. "

"O, Daniel, " said Aunt Katie, half chidingly, "how you do talk. "

"Why, it's true. I 'member when you war de puttiest gal in dese diggins;when nobody could top your cotton. "

"I don't, " said Aunt Katie. 

"Well, I do. Now, let me go on wid my story. De fust time I seed her, Isez to myself, 'Dat's de gal for me, an' I means to hab her ef I kin gither. ' So I scraped 'quaintance wid her, and axed her ef she would hab meef our marsters would let us. I warn't 'fraid 'bout Marse Robert, but Iwarn't quite shore 'bout Gundover. So when Marse Robert com'd home, Iaxed him, an' he larf'd an' said, 'All right, ' an' dat he would speak toole Gundover 'bout it. He didn't relish it bery much, but he didn'tlike to 'fuse Marse Robert. He wouldn't sell her, for she tended hisdairy, an' war mighty handy 'bout de house. He said, I mought marry heran' come to see her wheneber Marse Robert would gib me a pass. I wantedhim to sell her, but he wouldn't hear to it, so I had to put up wid whatI could git. Marse Robert war mighty good to me, but ole Gundover's wifewar de meanest woman dat I eber did see. She used to go out on deplantation an' boss things like a man. Arter I war married, I had ababy. It war de dearest, cutest little thing you eber did see; but, porething, it got sick and died. It died 'bout three o'clock; and in demornin', Katie, habbin her cows to milk, lef her dead baby in de cabin. When she com'd back from milkin' her thirty cows, an' went to look forher pore little baby, some one had been to her cabin an' took'd de porechile away an' put it in de groun'. Pore Katie, she didn't eben hab achance to kiss her baby 'fore it war buried. Ole Gundover's wife hasbeen dead thirty years, an' she didn't die a day too soon. An' my littlebaby has gone to glory, an' is wingin' wid the angels an' a lookin' outfor us. One ob de las' things ole Gundover's wife did 'fore she died warto order a woman whipped 'cause she com'd to de field a little late whenher husband war sick, an' she had stopped to tend him. Dat mornin' shewar taken sick wid de fever, an' in a few days she war gone out like desnuff ob a candle. She lef' several sons, an' I specs she would almos'turn ober in her grave ef she know'd she had ten culled granchillensomewhar down in de lower kentry. "

"Isn't it funny, " said Robert, "how these white folks look down oncolored people, an' then mix up with them?"

"Marster war away when Miss 'Liza treated my Katie so mean, an' when Itole him 'bout it, he war tearin' mad, an' went ober an' saw oleGundover, an' foun' out he war hard up for money, an' he bought Katieand brought her home to lib wid me, and we's been a libin in clover ebersence. Marster Robert has been mighty good to me. He stood by me in mytroubles, an' now his trouble's come, I'm a gwine to stan' by him. Iused to think Gundover's wife war jealous ob my Katie. She war so muchputtier. Gundover's wife couldn't tech my Katie wid a ten foot pole. "

"But, Aunt Katie, you have had your trials, " said Robert, now thatDaniel had finished his story; "don't you feel bitter towards thesepeople who are fighting to keep you in slavery?"

Aunt Katie turned her face towards the speaker. It was a thoughtful, intelligent face, saintly and calm. A face which expressed the idea of asoul which had been fearfully tempest tossed, but had passed throughsuffering into peace. Very touching was the look of resignation and hopewhich overspread her features as she replied, with the simple child-likefaith which she had learned in the darkest hour, "The Lord says, we mustforgive. " And with her that thought, as coming from the lips of DivineLove, was enough to settle the whole question of forgiveness of injuriesand love to enemies. 

"Well, " said Thomas Anderson, turning to Uncle Daniel, "we can't counton yer to go wid us?"

"Boys, " said Uncle Daniel, and there was grief in his voice, "I'semighty glad you hab a chance for your freedom; but, ez I tole yer, Ipromised Marse Robert I would stay, an' I mus' be as good as my word. Don't you youngsters stay for an ole stager like me. I'm ole an' mos'worn out. Freedom wouldn't do much for me, but I want you all to be asfree as the birds; so, you chillen, take your freedom when you kin getit. "

"But, Uncle Dan'el, you won't say nothin' 'bout our going, will you?"said the youngest of the company. 

Uncle Daniel slowly arose. There was a mournful flash in his eye, atremor of emotion in his voice, as he said, "Look yere, boys, de boy dataxed dat question war a new comer on dis plantation, but some ob you'sbin here all ob your lives; did you eber know ob Uncle Dan'el gittin'any ob you inter trouble?"

"No, no, " exclaimed a chorus of voices, "but many's de time you've heldoff de blows wen de oberseer got too mean, an' cruelized us too much, wen Marse Robert war away. An' wen he got back, you made him settle deoberseer's hash. "

"Well, boys, " said Uncle Daniel, with an air of mournful dignity, "I'sede same Uncle Dan'el I eber war. Ef any ob you wants to go, I habben't aword to say agin it. I specs dem Yankees be all right, but I knows MarseRobert, an' I don't know dem, an' I ain't a gwine ter throw away dirtywater 'til I gits clean. "

"Well, Uncle Ben, " said Robert, addressing a stalwart man whose toweringform and darkly flashing eye told that slavery had failed to put thecrouch in his shoulders or general abjectness into his demeanor, "youwill go with us, for sure, won't you?"

"Yes, " spoke up Tom Anderson, "'cause de trader's done took your wife, an' got her for his'n now. "

As Ben Tunnel looked at the speaker, a spasm of agony and anger darkenedhis face and distorted his features, as if the blood of some strongrace were stirring with sudden vigor through his veins. He clutched hishands together, as if he were struggling with an invisible foe, and fora moment he remained silent. Then suddenly raising his head, heexclaimed, "Boys, there's not one of you loves freedom more than I do, but--"

"But what?" said Tom. "Do you think white folks is your bes' friends?"

"I'll think so when I lose my senses. "

"Well, now, I don't belieb you're 'fraid, not de way I yeard you talkin'to de oberseer wen he war threatnin' to hit your mudder. He saw youmeant business, an' he let her alone. But, what's to hinder you fromgwine wid us?"

"My mother, " he replied, in a low, firm voice. "That is the only thingthat keeps me from going. If it had not been for her, I would have gonelong ago. She's all I've got, an' I'm all she's got. "

It was touching to see the sorrow on the strong face, to detect thepathos and indignation in his voice, as he said, "I used to love Mirandyas I love my life. I thought the sun rose and set in her. I never saw ahandsomer woman than she was. But she fooled me all over the face andeyes, and took up with that hell-hound of a trader, Lukens; an' he gaveher a chance to live easy, to wear fine clothes, an' be waited on like alady. I thought at first I would go crazy, but my poor mammy did all shecould to comfort me. She would tell me there were as good fish in thesea as were ever caught out of it. Many a time I've laid my poor head onher lap, when it seemed as if my brain was on fire and my heart wasalmost ready to burst. But in course of time I got over the worst ofit; an' Mirandy is the first an' last woman that ever fooled me. Butthat dear old mammy of mine, I mean to stick by her as long as there isa piece of her. I can't go over to the army an' leave her behind, for ifI did, an' anything should happen, I would never forgive myself. "

"But couldn't you take her with you, " said Robert, "the soldiers said wecould bring our women. "

"It isn't that. The Union army is several miles from here, an' my poormammy is so skeery that, if I were trying to get her away and any ofthem Secesh would overtake us, an' begin to question us, she would getskeered almost to death, an' break down an' begin to cry, an' then thefat would be in the fire. So, while I love freedom more than a childloves its mother's milk, I've made up my mind to stay on the plantation. I wish, from the bottom of my heart, I could go. But I can't take heralong with me, an' I don't want to be free and leave her behind inslavery. I was only five years old when my master and, as I believe, father, sold us both here to this lower country, an' we've been hereever since. It's no use talking, I won't leave her to be run over byeverybody. "

A few evenings after this interview, the Union soldiers entered the townof C----, and established their headquarters near the home of ThomasAnderson. 

Out of the little company, almost every one deserted to the Union army, leaving Uncle Daniel faithful to his trust, and Ben Tunnel hushing hisheart's deep aspirations for freedom in a passionate devotion to histimid and affectionate mother. 

CHAPTER IV. 

ARRIVAL OF THE UNION ARMY. 

A few evenings before the stampede of Robert and his friends to thearmy, and as he sat alone in his room reading the latest news from thepaper he had secreted, he heard a cautious tread and a low tap at hiswindow. He opened the door quietly and whispered:--

"Anything new, Tom?"

"Yes. "

"What is it? Come in. "

"Well, I'se done bin seen dem Yankees, an' dere ain't a bit of troof indem stories I'se bin yerin 'bout 'em. "

"Where did you see 'em?"

"Down in de woods whar Marster tole us to hide. Yesterday ole Marse sentfor me to come in de settin'-room. An' what do you think? Instead obmakin' me stan' wid my hat in my han' while he went froo a wholerigamarole, he axed me to sit down, an' he tole me he 'spected deYankees would want us to go inter de army, an' dey would put us in frontwhar we'd all git killed; an' I tole him I didn't want to go, I didn'twant to git all momached up. An' den he said we'd better go down in dewoods an' hide. Massa Tom and Frank said we'd better go as quick as eberwe could. Dey said dem Yankees would put us in dere wagons and make ushaul like we war mules. Marse Tom ain't libin' at de great house jis'now. He's keepin' bachellar's hall. "

"Didn't he go to the battle?"

"No; he foun' a pore white man who war hard up for money, an' he got himto go. "

"But, Tom, you didn't believe these stories about the Yankees. Tom andFrank can lie as fast as horses can trot. They wanted to scare you, andkeep you from going to the Union army. "

"I knows dat now, but I didn't 'spect so den. "

"Well, when did you see the soldiers? Where are they? And what did theysay to you?"

"Dey's right down in Gundover's woods. An' de Gineral's got hisheadquarters almos' next door to our house. "

"That near? Oh, you don't say so!"

"Yes, I do. An', oh, golly, ain't I so glad! I jis' stole yere to toldyou all 'bout it. Yesterday mornin' I war splittin' some wood to git mybreakfas', an' I met one ob dem Yankee sogers. Well, I war so skeered, my heart flew right up in my mouf, but I made my manners to him andsaid, 'Good mornin', Massa. ' He said, 'Good mornin'; but don't call me"massa. "' Dat war de fust white man I eber seed dat didn't want ter becalled 'massa, ' eben ef he war as pore as Job's turkey. Den I begin tofeel right sheepish, an' he axed me ef my marster war at home, an' ef hewar a Reb. I tole him he hadn't gone to de war, but he war Secesh allfroo, inside and outside. He war too ole to go to de war, but dat he warall de time gruntin' an' groanin', an' I 'spected he'd grunt hisself todeath. "

"What did he say?"

"He said he specs he'll grunt worser dan dat fore dey get froo wid him. Den he axed me ef I would hab some breakfas, ' an' I said, 'No, t'ankyou, sir. ' 'An' I war jis' as hungry as a dorg, but I war 'feared toeat. I war 'feared he war gwine to pizen me. "

"Poison you! don't you know the Yankees are our best friends?"

"Well, ef dat's so, I'se mighty glad, cause de woods is full ob dem. "

"Now, Tom, I thought you had cut your eye-teeth long enough not to letthem Anderson boys fool you. Tom, you must not think because a white mansays a thing, it must be so, and that a colored man's word is no account'longside of his. Tom, if ever we get our freedom, we've got to learn totrust each other and stick together if we would be a people. Somebodyelse can read the papers as well as Marse Tom and Frank. My ole Missknows I can read the papers, an' she never tries to scare me with bigwhoppers 'bout the Yankees. She knows she can't catch ole birds withchaff, so she is just as sweet as a peach to her Bobby. But as soon as Iget a chance I will play her a trick the devil never did. "

"What's that?"

"I'll leave her. I ain't forgot how she sold my mother from me. Many anight I have cried myself to sleep, thinking about her, and when I getfree I mean to hunt her up. "

"Well, I ain't tole you all. De gemman said he war 'cruiting for dearmy; dat Massa Linkum hab set us all free, an' dat he wanted some moresogers to put down dem Secesh; dat we should all hab our freedom, ourwages, an' some kind ob money. I couldn't call it like he did. "

"Bounty money, " said Robert. 

"Yes, dat's jis' what he called it, bounty money. An' I said dat I warin for dat, teeth and toe-nails. "

Robert Johnson's heart gave a great bound. Was that so? Had that army, with freedom emblazoned on its banners, come at last to offer themdeliverance if they would accept it? Was it a bright, beautiful dream, or a blessed reality soon to be grasped by his willing hands? His heartgrew buoyant with hope; the lightness of his heart gave elasticity tohis step and sent the blood rejoicingly through his veins. Freedom wasalmost in his grasp, and the future was growing rose-tinted andrainbow-hued. All the ties which bound him to his home were as ropes ofsand, now that freedom had come so near. 

When the army was afar off, he had appeared to be light-hearted andcontent with his lot. If asked if he desired his freedom, he would haveanswered, very naively, that he was eating his white bread and believedin letting well enough alone; he had no intention of jumping from thefrying-pan into the fire. But in the depths of his soul the love offreedom was an all-absorbing passion; only danger had taught himcaution. He had heard of terrible vengeance being heaped upon the headsof some who had sought their freedom and failed in the attempt. Robertknew that he might abandon hope if he incurred the wrath of men whoseoverthrow was only a question of time. It would have been madness andfolly for him to have attempted an insurrection against slavery, withthe words of McClellan ringing in his ears: "If you rise I shall put youdown with an iron hand, " and with the home guards ready to quench hisaspirations for freedom with bayonets and blood. What could a set ofunarmed and undisciplined men do against the fearful odds which besettheir path?

Robert waited eagerly and hopefully his chance to join the Union army;and was ready and willing to do anything required of him by which hecould earn his freedom and prove his manhood. He conducted his planswith the greatest secrecy. A few faithful and trusted friends stoodready to desert with him when the Union army came within hailingdistance. When it came, there was a stampede to its ranks of men readyto serve in any capacity, to labor in the tents, fight on the fields, oract as scouts. It was a strange sight to see these black men rallyingaround the Stars and Stripes, when white men were trampling them underfoot and riddling them with bullets. 

CHAPTER V. 

THE RELEASE OF IOLA LEROY. 

"Well, boys, " said Robert to his trusted friends, as they gatheredtogether at a meeting in Gundover's woods, almost under the shadow ofthe Union army, "how many of you are ready to join the army and fightfor your freedom. "

"All ob us. "

"The soldiers, " continued Robert, "are camped right at the edge of thetown. The General has his headquarters in the heart of the town, and oneof the officers told me yesterday that the President had set us allfree, and that as many as wanted to join the army could come along tothe camp. So I thought, boys, that I would come and tell you. Now, youcan take your bag and baggage, and get out of here as soon as youchoose. "

"We'll be ready by daylight, " said Tom. "It won't take me long to packup, " looking down at his seedy clothes, with a laugh. "I specs oleMarse'll be real lonesome when I'm gone. An' won't he be hoppin' madwhen he finds I'm a goner? I specs he'll hate it like pizen. "

"O, well, " said Robert, "the best of friends must part. Don't let itgrieve you. "

"I'se gwine to take my wife an' chillen, " said one of the company. 

"I'se got nobody but myself, " said Tom; "but dere's a mighty puttyyoung gal dere at Marse Tom's. I wish I could git her away. Dey tells medey's been sellin' her all ober de kentry; but dat she's a reg'larspitfire; dey can't lead nor dribe her. "

"Do you think she would go with us?" said Robert. 

"I think she's jis' dying to go. Dey say dey can't do nuffin wid her. Marse Tom's got his match dis time, and I'se glad ob it. I jis' gloriesin her spunk. "

"How did she come there?"

"Oh, Marse bought her ob de trader to keep house for him. But ef youseed dem putty white han's ob hern you'd never tink she kept her ownhouse, let 'lone anybody else's. "

"Do you think you can get her away?"

"I don't know; 'cause Marse Tom keeps her mighty close. My! but she'sputty. Beautiful long hair comes way down her back; putty blue eyes, an'jis' ez white ez anybody's in dis place. I'd jis' wish you could see heryoresef. I heerd Marse Tom talkin' 'bout her las' night to his brudder;tellin' him she war mighty airish, but he meant to break her in. "

An angry curse rose to the lips of Robert, but he repressed it andmuttered to himself, "Graceless scamp, he ought to have his neckstretched. " Then turning to Tom, said:--

"Get her, if you possibly can, but you must be mighty mum about it. "

"Trus' me for dat, " said Tom. 

Tom was very anxious to get word to the beautiful but intractable girlwho was held in durance vile by her reckless and selfish master, who hadtried in vain to drag her down to his own low level of sin and shame. But all Tom's efforts were in vain. Finally he applied to the Commanderof the post, who immediately gave orders for her release. The next dayTom had the satisfaction of knowing that Iola Leroy had been taken as atrembling dove from the gory vulture's nest and given a place ofsecurity. She was taken immediately to the General's headquarters. TheGeneral was much impressed by her modest demeanor, and surprised to seethe refinement and beauty she possessed. Could it be possible that thisyoung and beautiful girl had been a chattel, with no power to protectherself from the highest insults that lawless brutality could inflictupon innocent and defenseless womanhood? Could he ever again glory inhis American citizenship, when any white man, no matter how coarse, cruel, or brutal, could buy or sell her for the basest purposes? Was itnot true that the cause of a hapless people had become entangled withthe lightnings of heaven, and dragged down retribution upon the land?

The field hospital was needing gentle, womanly ministrations, and IolaLeroy, released from the hands of her tormentors, was given a place asnurse; a position to which she adapted herself with a deep sense ofrelief. Tom was doubly gratified at the success of his endeavors, whichhad resulted in the rescue of the beautiful young girl and thediscomfiture of his young master who, in the words of Tom, "was madenough to bite his head off" (a rather difficult physical feat). 

Iola, freed from her master's clutches, applied herself readily to herappointed tasks. The beautiful, girlish face was full of tenderearnestness. The fresh, young voice was strangely sympathetic, as ifsome great sorrow had bound her heart in loving compassion to everysufferer who needed her gentle ministrations. 

Tom Anderson was a man of herculean strength and remarkable courage. But, on account of physical defects, instead of enlisting as a soldier, he was forced to remain a servant, although he felt as if every nerve inhis right arm was tingling to strike a blow for freedom. He was wellversed in the lay of the country, having often driven his master'scotton to market when he was a field hand. After he became a coachman, he had become acquainted with the different roads and localities of thecountry. Besides, he had often accompanied his young masters on theirhunting and fishing expeditions. Although he could not fight in thearmy, he proved an invaluable helper. When tents were to be pitched, none were more ready to help than he. When burdens were to be borne, none were more willing to bend beneath them than Thomas Anderson. Whenthe battle-field was to be searched for the wounded and dying, no handwas more tender in its ministrations of kindness than his. As a generalfactotum in the army, he was ever ready and willing to serve anywhereand at any time, and to gather information from every possible sourcewhich could be of any service to the Union army. As a Pagan mightworship a distant star and wish to call it his own, so he loved Iola. And he never thought he could do too much for the soldiers who hadrescued her and were bringing deliverance to his race. 

"What do you think of Miss Iola?" Robert asked him one day, as they weretalking together. 

"I jis' think dat she's splendid. Las' week I had to take some of ourpore boys to de hospital, an' she war dere, lookin' sweet an' putty ezan angel, a nussin' dem pore boys, an' ez good to one ez de oder. Itlooks to me ez ef dey ralely lob'd her shadder. She sits by 'em sopatient, an' writes 'em sech nice letters to der frens, an' yit shelooks so heart-broke an' pitiful, it jis' gits to me, an' makes me mos'ready to cry. I'm so glad dat Marse Tom had to gib her up. He war toomean to eat good victuals. "

"He ought, " said Robert, "to be made to live on herrings' heads and coldpotatoes. It makes my blood boil just to think that he was going to havethat lovely looking young girl whipped for his devilment. He ought to beashamed to hold up his head among respectable people. "

"I tell you, Bob, de debil will neber git his own till he gits him. WhenI seed how he war treating her I neber rested till I got her away. Hebuyed her, he said, for his housekeeper; as many gals as dere war on deplantation, why didn't he git one ob dem to keep house, an' not dat nicelookin' young lady? Her han's look ez ef she neber did a day's work inher life. One day when he com'd down to breakfas, ' he chucked her underde chin, an' tried to put his arm roun' her waist. But she jis' frew itoff like a chunk ob fire. She looked like a snake had bit her. Her eyesfairly spit fire. Her face got red ez blood, an' den she turned so paleI thought she war gwine to faint, but she didn't, an' I yered her say, 'I'll die fust. ' I war mad 'nough to stan' on my head. I could habtore'd him all to pieces wen he said he'd hab her whipped. "

"Did he do it?"

"I don't know. But he's mean 'nough to do enythin'. Why, dey say shewar sole seben times in six weeks, 'cause she's so putty, but dat shewar game to de las'. "

"Well, Tom, " said Robert, "getting that girl away was one of the bestthings you ever did in your life. "

"I think so, too. Not dat I specs enytin' ob it. I don't spose she wouldthink ob an ugly chap like me; but it does me good to know dat Marse Tomain't got her. "

CHAPTER VI. 

ROBERT JOHNSON'S PROMOTION AND RELIGION. 

Robert Johnson, being able to meet the army requirements, was enlistedas a substitute to help fill out the quota of a Northern regiment. Withhis intelligence, courage, and prompt obedience, he rose from the ranksand became lieutenant of a colored company. He was daring, without beingrash; prompt, but not thoughtless; firm, without being harsh. Kind anddevoted to the company he drilled, he soon won the respect of hissuperior officers and the love of his comrades. 

"Johnson, " said a young officer, Captain Sybil, of Maine, who had becomeattached to Robert, "what is the use of your saying you're a coloredman, when you are as white as I am, and as brave a man as there is amongus. Why not quit this company, and take your place in the army just thesame as a white man? I know your chances for promotion would be better. "

"Captain, you may doubt my word, but to-day I would rather be alieutenant in my company than a captain in yours. "

"I don't understand you. "

"Well, Captain, when a man's been colored all his life it comes a littlehard for him to get white all at once. Were I to try it, I would feellike a cat in a strange garret. Captain, I think my place is where I ammost needed. You do not need me in your ranks, and my company does. They are excellent fighters, but they need a leader. To silence abattery, to capture a flag, to take a fortification, they will rush intothe jaws of death. "

"Yes, I have often wondered at their bravery. "

"Captain, these battles put them on their mettle. They have been so longtaught that they are nothing and nobody, that they seem glad to provethey are something and somebody. "

"But, Johnson, you do not look like them, you do not talk like them. Itis a burning shame to have held such a man as you in slavery. "

"I don't think it was any worse to have held me in slavery than theblackest man in the South. "

"You are right, Johnson. The color of a man's skin has nothing to dowith the possession of his rights. "

"Now, there is Tom Anderson, " said Robert, "he is just as black as blackcan be. He has been bought and sold like a beast, and yet there is not abraver man in all the company. I know him well. He is a noble-heartedfellow. True as steel. I love him like a brother. And I believe Tomwould risk his life for me any day. He don't know anything about hisfather or mother. He was sold from them before he could remember. He canread a little. He used to take lessons from a white gardener inVirginia. He would go between the hours of 9 P. M. And 4 A. M. He got abook of his own, tore it up, greased the pages, and hid them in his hat. Then if his master had ever knocked his hat off he would have thoughtthem greasy papers, and not that Tom was carrying his library on hishead. I had another friend who lived near us. When he was nineteenyears old he did not know how many letters there were in the ABC's. Onenight, when his work was done, his boss came into his cabin and saw himwith a book in his hand. He threatened to give him five hundred lashesif he caught him again with a book, and said he hadn't work enough todo. He was getting out logs, and his task was ten logs a day. Hisemployer threatened to increase it to twelve. He said it just harassedhim; it set him on fire. He thought there must be something good in thatbook if the white man didn't want him to learn. One day he had an errandin the kitchen, and he heard one of the colored girls going over theABC's. Here was the key to the forbidden knowledge. She had heard thewhite children saying them, and picked them up by heart, but did notknow them by sight. He was not content with that, but sold his cap for abook and wore a cloth on his head instead. He got the sounds of theletters by heart, then cut off the bark of a tree, carved the letters onthe smooth inside, and learned them. He wanted to learn how to write. Hehad charge of a warehouse where he had a chance to see the size and formof letters. He made the beach of the river his copybook, and thus helearned to write. Tom never got very far with his learning, but I usedto get the papers and tell him all I knew about the war. "

"How did you get the papers?"

"I used to have very good privileges for a slave. All of our owners werenot alike. Some of them were quite clever, and others were worse thangit out. I used to get the morning papers to sell to the boarders andothers, and when I got them I would contrive to hide a paper, and letsome of the fellow-servants know how things were going on. And ourowners thought we cared nothing about what was going on. "

"How was that? I thought you were not allowed to hold meetings unless awhite man were present. "

"That was so. But we contrived to hold secret meetings in spite of theircaution. We knew whom we could trust. My ole Miss wasn't mean like someof them. She never wanted the patrollers around prowling in our cabins, and poking their noses into our business. Her husband was an awfuldrunkard. He ran through every cent he could lay his hands on, and shewas forced to do something to keep the wolf from the door, so she set upa boarding-house. But she didn't take in Tom, Dick, and Harry. Nobodybut the big bugs stopped with her. She taught me to read and write, andto cast up accounts. It was so handy for her to have some one who couldfigure up her accounts, and read or write a note, if she were from homeand wanted the like done. She once told her cousin how I could write andfigure up. And what do you think her cousin said?"

"'Pleased, ' I suppose, 'to hear it. '"

"Not a bit of it. She said, if I belonged to her, she would cut off mythumbs; her husband said, 'Oh, then he couldn't pick cotton. ' As to mypoor thumbs, it did not seem to be taken into account what it would costme to lose them. My ole Miss used to have a lot of books. She would letme read any one of them except a novel. She wanted to take care of mysoul, but she wasn't taking care of her own. "

"Wasn't she religious?"

"She went for it. I suppose she was as good as most of them. She saidher prayers and went to church, but I don't know that that made her anybetter. I never did take much stock in white folks' religion. "

"Why, Robert, I'm afraid you are something of an infidel. "

"No, Captain, I believe in the real, genuine religion. I ain't got muchmyself, but I respect them that have. We had on our place a dear, oldsaint, named Aunt Kizzy. She was a happy soul. She had seen hard times, but was what I call a living epistle. I've heard her tell how her onlychild had been sold from her, when the man who bought herself did notwant to buy her child. Poor little fellow! he was only two years old. Iasked her one day how she felt when her child was taken away. 'I felt, 'she said, 'as if I was going to my grave. But I knew if I couldn't getjustice here, I could get it in another world. '"

"That was faith, " said Captain Sybil, as if speaking to himself, "apatient waiting for death to redress the wrongs of life. "

"Many a time, " continued Robert, "have I heard her humming to herself inthe kitchen and saying, 'I has my trials, ups and downs, but it won'tallers be so. I specs one day to wing and wing wid de angels, Hallelujah! Den I specs to hear a voice sayin', "Poor ole Kizzy, she'sdone de bes' she kin. Go down, Gabriel, an' tote her in. " Den I specs toput on my golden slippers, my long white robe, an' my starry crown, an'walk dem golden streets, Hallelujah!' I've known that dear, old soul totravel going on two miles, after her work was done, to have some oneread to her. Her favorite chapter began with, 'Let not your heart betroubled, ye believe in God, believe also in Me. '"

"I have been deeply impressed, " said Captain Sybil, "with the child-likefaith of some of these people. I do not mean to say that they areconsistent Christians, but I do think that this faith has in a measureunderlain the life of the race. It has been a golden thread woven amidthe sombre tissues of their lives. A ray of light shimmering amid thegloom of their condition. And what would they have been without it?"

"I don't know. But I know what she was with it. And I believe if thereare any saints in glory, Aunt Kizzy is one of them. "

"She is dead, then?"

"Yes, went all right, singing and rejoicing until the last, 'Troubles over, troubles over, and den my troubles will be over. We'llwalk de golden streets all 'roun' in de New Jerusalem. ' Now, Captain, that's the kind of religion that I want. Not that kind which could rideto church on Sundays, and talk so solemn with the minister about heavenand good things, then come home and light down on the servants like athousand of bricks. I have no use for it. I don't believe in it. I neverdid and I never will. If any man wants to save my soul he ain't got tobeat my body. That ain't the kind of religion I'm looking for. I ain'tgot a bit of use for it. Now, Captain, ain't I right?"

"Well, yes, Robert, I think you are more than half right. You ought toknow my dear, old mother who lives in Maine. We have had colored companyat our house, and I never saw her show the least difference between hercolored and white guests. She is a Quaker preacher, and don't believein war, but when the rest of the young men went to the front, I wantedto go also. So I thought it all over, and there seemed to be no way outof slavery except through the war. I had been taught to hate war anddetest slavery. Now the time had come when I could not help the war, butI could strike a blow for freedom. So I told my mother I was going tothe front, that I expected to be killed, but I went to free the slave. It went hard with her. But I thought that I ought to come, and I believemy mother's prayers are following me. "

"Captain, " said Robert, rising, "I am glad that I have heard your story. I think that some of these Northern soldiers do two things--hate slaveryand hate niggers. "

"I am afraid that is so with some of them. They would rather be whippedby Rebels than conquer with negroes. Oh, I heard a soldier, " saidCaptain Sybil, "say, when the colored men were being enlisted, that hewould break his sword and resign. But he didn't do either. After ColonelShaw led his charge at Fort Wagner, and died in the conflict, he gotbravely over his prejudices. The conduct of the colored troops there andelsewhere has done much to turn public opinion in their favor. I supposeany white soldier would rather have his black substitute receive thebullets than himself. "

CHAPTER VII. 

TOM ANDERSON'S DEATH. 

"Where is Tom?" asked Captain Sybil; "I have not seen him for severalhours. "

"He's gone down the sound with some of the soldiers, " replied Robert. "They wanted Tom to row them. "

"I am afraid those boys will get into trouble, and the Rebs will pickthem off, " responded Sybil. 

"O, I hope not, " answered Robert. 

"I hope not, too; but those boys are too venturesome. "

"Tom knows the lay of the land better than any of us, " said Robert. "Heis the most wide-awake and gamiest man I know. I reckon when the war isover Tom will be a preacher. Did you ever hear him pray?"

"No; is he good at that?"

"First-rate, " continued Robert. "It would do you good to hear him. Hedon't allow any cursing and swearing when he's around. And what he saysis law and gospel with the boys. But he's so good-natured; and theycan't get mad at him. "

"Yes, Robert, there is not a man in our regiment I would sooner trustthan Tom. Last night, when he brought in that wounded scout, he couldn'thave been more tender if he had been a woman. How gratefully the poorfellow looked in Tom's face as he laid him down so carefully andstaunched the blood which had been spurting out of him. Tom seemed toknow it was an artery which had been cut, and he did just the rightthing to stop the bleeding. He knew there wasn't a moment to be lost. Hewasn't going to wait for the doctor. I have often heard that coloredpeople are ungrateful, but I don't think Tom's worst enemy would saythat about him. "

"Captain, " said Robert, with a tone of bitterness in his voice, "whathad we to be grateful for? For ages of poverty, ignorance, and slavery?I think if anybody should be grateful, it is the people who haveenslaved us and lived off our labor for generations. Captain, I used toknow a poor old woman who couldn't bear to hear any one play on thepiano. "

"Is that so? Why, I always heard that colored people were a musicalrace. "

"So we are; but that poor woman's daughter was sold, and her mistresstook the money to buy a piano. Her mother could never bear to hear asound from it. "

"Poor woman!" exclaimed Captain Sybil, sympathetically; "I suppose itseemed as if the wail of her daughter was blending with the tones of theinstrument. I think, Robert, there is a great deal more in the coloredpeople than we give them credit for. Did you know Captain Sellers?"

"The officer who escaped from prison and got back to our lines?" askedRobert. 

"Yes. Well, he had quite an experience in trying to escape. He came toan aged couple, who hid him in their cabin and shared their humble foodwith him. They gave him some corn-bread, bacon, and coffee which hethought was made of scorched bran. But he said that he never ate a mealthat he relished more than the one he took with them. Just before hewent they knelt down and prayed with him. It seemed as if his very hairstood on his head, their prayer was so solemn. As he was going away theman took some shingles and nailed them on his shoes to throw thebloodhounds off his track. I don't think he will ever cease to feelkindly towards colored people. I do wonder what has become of the boys?What can keep them so long?"

Just as Captain Sybil and Robert were wondering at the delay of Tom andthe soldiers they heard the measured tread of men who were slowlybearing a burden. They were carrying Tom Anderson to the hospital, fearfully wounded, and nigh to death. His face was distorted, and theblood was streaming from his wounds. His respiration was faint, hispulse hurried, as if life were trembling on its frailest cords. 

Robert and Captain Sybil hastened at once towards the wounded man. OnRobert's face was a look of intense anguish, as he bent pityingly overhis friend. 

"O, this is dreadful! How did it happen?" cried Robert. 

Captain Sybil, pressing anxiously forward, repeated Robert's question. 

"Captain, " said one of the young soldiers, advancing and saluting hissuperior officer, "we were all in the boat when it struck against a mudbank, and there was not strength enough among us to shove her back intothe water. Just then the Rebels opened fire upon us. For awhile we laydown in the boat, but still they kept firing. Tom took in the wholesituation, and said: 'Someone must die to get us out of this. Imought's well be him as any. You are soldiers and can fight. If theykill me, it is nuthin'. ' So Tom leaped out to shove the boat into thewater. Just then the Rebel bullets began to rain around him. He receivedseven or eight of them, and I'm afraid there is no hope for him. "

"O, Tom, I wish you hadn't gone. O, Tom! Tom!" cried Robert, in tones ofagony. 

A gleam of grateful recognition passed over the drawn features of Tom, as the wail of his friend fell on his ear. He attempted to speak, butthe words died upon his lips, and he became unconscious. 

"Well, " said Captain Sybil, "put him in one of the best wards. Give himinto Miss Leroy's care. If good nursing can win him back to life, heshall not want for any care or pains that she can bestow. Sendimmediately for Dr. Gresham. "

Robert followed his friend into the hospital, tenderly and carefullyhelped to lay him down, and remained awhile, gazing in silent grief uponthe sufferer. Then he turned to go, leaving him in the hands of Iola, but hoping against hope that his wounds would not be fatal. 

With tender devotion Iola watched her faithful friend. He recognized herwhen restored to consciousness, and her presence was as balm to hiswounds. He smiled faintly, took her hand in his, stroked it tenderly, looked wistfully into her face, and said, "Miss Iola, I ain't long ferdis! I'se 'most home!"

"Oh, no, " said Iola, "I hope that you will soon get over this trouble, and live many long and happy days. "

"No, Miss Iola, it's all ober wid me. I'se gwine to glory; gwine toglory; gwine to ring dem charmin' bells. Tell all de boys to meet me inheben; dat dey mus' 'list in de hebenly war. "

"O, Mr. Tom, " said Iola, tenderly, "do not talk of leaving me. You arethe best friend I have had since I was torn from my mother. I should beso lonely without you. "

"Dere's a frien' dat sticks closer dan a brudder. He will be wid yer inde sixt' trial, an' in de sebbent' he'll not fo'sake yer. "

"Yes, " answered Iola, "I know that. He is all our dependence. But Ican't help grieving when I see you suffering so. But, dear friend, bequiet, and try to go to sleep. "

"I'll do enythin' fer yer, Miss Iola. "

Tom closed his eyes and lay quiet. Tenderly and anxiously Iola watchedover him as the hours waned away. The doctor came, shook his headgravely, and, turning to Iola, said, "There is no hope, but do what youcan to alleviate his sufferings. "

As Iola gazed upon the kind but homely features of Tom, she saw his eyesopen and an unexpressed desire upon his face. 

Tenderly and sadly bending over him, with tears in her dark, luminouseyes, she said, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, " said Tom, with laboring breath; "let me hole yore han', an' sing'Ober Jordan inter glory' an' 'We'll anchor bye and bye. '"

Iola laid her hand gently in the rough palm of the dying man, and, witha tremulous voice, sang the parting hymns. 

Tenderly she wiped the death damps from his dusky brow, and imprintedupon it a farewell kiss. Gratitude and affection lit up the dying eye, which seemed to be gazing into the eternities. Just then Robert enteredthe room, and, seating himself quietly by Tom's bedside, read the deathsigns in his face. 

"Good-bye, Robert, " said Tom, "meet me in de kingdom. " Suddenly a lookof recognition and rapture lit up his face, and he murmured, "Angels, bright angels, all's well, all's well!"

Slowly his hand released its pressure, a peaceful calm overspread hiscountenance, and without a sigh or murmur Thomas Anderson, Iola'sfaithful and devoted friend, passed away, leaving the world so muchpoorer for her than it was before. Just then Dr. Gresham, the hospitalphysician, came to the bedside, felt for the pulse which would neverthrob again, and sat down in silence by the cot. 

"What do you think, Doctor, " said Iola, "has he fainted?"

"No, " said the doctor, "poor fellow! he is dead. "

Iola bowed her head in silent sorrow, and then relieved the anguish ofher heart by a flood of tears. Robert rose, and sorrowfully left theroom. 

Iola, with tearful eyes and aching heart, clasped the cold hands overthe still breast, closed the waxen lid over the eye which had oncebeamed with kindness or flashed with courage, and then went back, afterthe burial, to her daily round of duties, feeling the sad missing ofsomething from her life. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE MYSTIFIED DOCTOR. 

"Colonel, " said Dr. Gresham to Col. Robinson, the commander of the post, "I am perfectly mystified by Miss Leroy. "

"What is the matter with her?" asked Col. Robinson. "Is she not faithfulto her duties and obedient to your directions?"

"Faithful is not the word to express her tireless energy and devotion toher work, " responded Dr. Gresham. "She must have been a born nurse toput such enthusiasm into her work. "

"Why, Doctor, what is the matter with you? You talk like a lover. "

A faint flush rose to the cheek of Dr. Gresham as he smiled, and said, "Oh! come now, Colonel, can't a man praise a woman without being in lovewith her?"

"Of course he can, " said Col. Robinson; "but I know where suchadmiration is apt to lead. I've been there myself. But, Doctor, had younot better defer your love-making till you're out of the woods?"

"I assure you, Colonel, I am not thinking of love or courtship. That isthe business of the drawing-room, and not of the camp. But she didmystify me last night. "

"How so?" asked Col. Robinson. 

"When Tom was dying, " responded the doctor, "I saw that beautiful andrefined young lady bend over and kiss him. When she found that he wasdead, she just cried as if her heart was breaking. Well, that was a newthing to me. I can eat with colored people, walk, talk, and fight withthem, but kissing them is something I don't hanker after. "

"And yet you saw Miss Leroy do it?"

"Yes; and that puzzles me. She is one of the most refined and lady-likewomen I ever saw. I hear she is a refugee, but she does not look likethe other refugees who have come to our camp. Her accent is slightlySouthern, but her manner is Northern. She is self-respecting withoutbeing supercilious; quiet, without being dull. Her voice is low andsweet, yet at times there are tones of such passionate tenderness in itthat you would think some great sorrow has darkened and overshadowed herlife. Without being the least gloomy, her face at times is pervaded byan air of inexpressible sadness. I sometimes watch her when she is notaware that I am looking at her, and it seems as if a whole volume wasdepicted on her countenance. When she smiles, there is a longing in hereyes which is never satisfied. I cannot understand how a Southern lady, whose education and manners stamp her as a woman of fine culture andgood breeding, could consent to occupy the position she so faithfullyholds. It is a mystery I cannot solve. Can you?"

"I think I can, " answered Col. Robinson. 

"Will you tell me?" queried the doctor. 

"Yes, on one condition. "

"What is it?"

"Everlasting silence. "

"I promise, " said the doctor. "The secret between us shall be as deep asthe sea. "

"She has not requested secrecy, but at present, for her sake, I do notwish the secret revealed. Miss Leroy was a slave. "

"Oh, no, " said Dr. Gresham, starting to his feet, "it can't be so! Awoman as white as she a slave?"

"Yes, it is so, " continued the Colonel. "In these States the childfollows the condition of its mother. This beautiful and accomplishedgirl was held by one of the worst Rebels in town. Tom told me of it andI issued orders for her release. "

"Well, well! Is that so?" said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully stroking hisbeard. "Wonders will never cease. Why, I was just beginning to thinkseriously of her. "

"What's to hinder your continuing to think?" asked Col. Robinson. 

"What you tell me changes the whole complexion of affairs, " replied thedoctor. 

"If that be so I am glad I told you before you got head over heels inlove. "

"Yes, " said Dr. Gresham, absently. 

Dr. Gresham was a member of a wealthy and aristocratic family, proud ofits lineage, which it could trace through generations of good blood toits ancestral isle. He had become deeply interested in Iola before hehad heard her story, but after it had been revealed to him he tried tobanish her from his mind; but his constant observation of her onlyincreased his interest and admiration. The deep pathos of her story, thetenderness of her ministrations, bestowed alike on black and white, andthe sad loneliness of her condition, awakened within him a desire todefend and protect her all through her future life. The fierce clashingof war had not taken all the romance out of his nature. In Iola he sawrealized his ideal of the woman whom he was willing to marry. A woman, tender, strong, and courageous, and rescued only by the strong arm ofhis Government from a fate worse than death. She was young in years, butold in sorrow; one whom a sad destiny had changed from a light-heartedgirl to a heroic woman. As he observed her, he detected an undertone ofsorrow in her most cheerful words, and observed a quick flushing andsudden paling of her cheek, as if she were living over scenes that werethrilling her soul with indignation or chilling her heart with horror. As nurse and physician, Iola and Dr. Gresham were constantly throwntogether. His friends sent him magazines and books, which he gladlyshared with her. The hospital was a sad place. Mangled forms, strickendown in the flush of their prime and energy; pale young corpses, sacrificed on the altar of slavery, constantly drained on hersympathies. Dr. Gresham was glad to have some reading matter which mightdivert her mind from the memories of her mournful past, and also furnishthem both with interesting themes of conversation in their moments ofrelaxation from the harrowing scenes through which they were constantlypassing. Without any effort or consciousness on her part, his friendshipripened into love. To him her presence was a pleasure, her absence aprivation; and her loneliness drew deeply upon his sympathy. He wouldhave merited his own self-contempt if, by word or deed, he had doneanything to take advantage of her situation. All the manhood andchivalry of his nature rose in her behalf, and, after carefullyrevolving the matter, he resolved to win her for his bride, bury hersecret in his Northern home, and hide from his aristocratic relationsall knowledge of her mournful past. One day he said to Iola:--

"This hospital life is telling on you. Your strength is failing, andalthough you possess a wonderful amount of physical endurance, you mustnot forget that saints have bodies and dwell in tabernacles of clay, just the same as we common mortals. "

"Compliments aside, " she said, smiling; "what are you driving at, Doctor?"

"I mean, " he replied, "that you are running down, and if you do not quitand take some rest you will be our patient instead of our nurse. You'dbetter take a furlough, go North, and return after the first frost. "

"Doctor, if that is your only remedy, " replied Iola, "I am afraid that Iam destined to die at my post. I have no special friends in the North, and no home but this in the South. I am homeless and alone. "

There was something so sad, almost despairing in her tones, in thedrooping of her head, and the quivering of her lip, that they stirredDr. Gresham's heart with sudden pity, and, drawing nearer to her, hesaid, "Miss Leroy, you need not be all alone. Let me claim the privilegeof making your life bright and happy. Iola, I have loved you ever sinceI have seen your devotion to our poor, sick boys. How faithfully you, ayoung and gracious girl, have stood at your post and performed yourduties. And now I ask, will you not permit me to clasp hands with youfor life? I do not ask for a hasty reply. Give yourself time to thinkover what I have proposed. "

CHAPTER IX. 

EUGENE LEROY AND ALFRED LORRAINE. 

Nearly twenty years before the war, two young men, of French and Spanishdescent, sat conversing on a large verandah which surrounded an ancienthome on the Mississippi River. It was French in its style ofarchitecture, large and rambling, with no hint of modern improvements. 

The owner of the house was the only heir of a Creole planter. He hadcome into possession of an inheritance consisting of vast baronialestates, bank stock, and a large number of slaves. Eugene Leroy, beingdeprived of his parents, was left, at an early age, to the care of adistant relative, who had sent him to school and college, and whooccasionally invited him to spend his vacations at his home. But Eugenegenerally declined his invitations, as he preferred spending hisvacations at the watering places in the North, with their fashionableand not always innocent gayeties. Young, vivacious, impulsive, andundisciplined, without the restraining influence of a mother's love orthe guidance of a father's hand, Leroy found himself, when his collegedays were over, in the dangerous position of a young man with vastpossessions, abundant leisure, unsettled principles, and uncontrolleddesires. He had no other object than to extract from life its mostseductive draughts of ease and pleasure. His companion, who sat oppositehim on the verandah, quietly smoking a cigar, was a remote cousin, afew years older than himself, the warmth of whose Southern temperamenthad been modified by an infusion of Northern blood. 

Eugene was careless, liberal, and impatient of details, while hiscompanion and cousin, Alfred Lorraine, was selfish, eager, keen, andalert; also hard, cold, methodical, and ever ready to grasp the mainchance. Yet, notwithstanding the difference between them, they hadformed a warm friendship for each other. 

"Alfred, " said Eugene, "I am going to be married. "

Lorraine opened his eyes with sudden wonder, and exclaimed: "Well, that's the latest thing out! Who is the fortunate lady who has bound youwith her silken fetters? Is it one of those beautiful Creole girls whowere visiting Augustine's plantation last winter? I watched you duringour visit there and thought that you could not be proof against theirattractions. Which is your choice? It would puzzle me to judge betweenthe two. They had splendid eyes, dark, luminous, and languishing; lovelycomplexions and magnificent hair. Both were delightful in their manners, refined and cultured, with an air of vivacity mingled with their reposeof manner which was perfectly charming. As the law only allows us one, which is your choice? Miss Annette has more force than her sister, andif I could afford the luxury of a wife she would be my choice. "

"Ah, Alf, " said Eugene, "I see that you are a practical business man. Inmarrying you want a wife to assist you as an efficient plantationmistress. One who would tolerate no waste in the kitchen and no disorderin the parlor. "

"Exactly so, " responded Lorraine; "I am too poor to marry a mere parlorornament. You can afford to do it; I cannot. "

"Nonsense, if I were as poor as a church mouse I would marry the woman Ilove. "

"Very fine sentiments, " said Lorraine, "and were I as rich as you Iwould indulge in them also. You know, when my father died I had greatexpectations. We had always lived in good style, and I never thought fora moment he was not a rich man, but when his estate was settled I foundit was greatly involved, and I was forced to face an uncertain future, with scarcely a dollar to call my own. Land, negroes, cattle, and horsesall went under the hammer. The only thing I retained was the education Ireceived at the North; that was my father's best investment, and all mystock in trade. With that only as an outfit, it would be madness for meto think of marrying one of those lovely girls. They remind me ofbeautiful canary birds, charming and pretty, but not fitted for the wearand tear of plantation life. Well, which is your choice?"

"Neither, " replied Eugene. 

"Then, is it that magnificent looking widow from New Orleans, whom wemet before you had that terrible spell of sickness and to whom youappeared so devoted?"

"Not at all. I have not heard from her since that summer. She wasfascinating and handsome, but fearfully high strung. "

"Were you afraid of her?"

"No; but I valued my happiness too much to trust it in her hands. "

"Sour grapes!" said Lorraine. 

"No! but I think that slavery and the lack of outside interests arebeginning to tell on the lives of our women. They lean too much on theirslaves, have too much irresponsible power in their hands, are narrowedand compressed by the routine of plantation life and the lack ofintellectual stimulus. "

"Yes, Eugene, when I see what other women are doing in the fields ofliterature and art, I cannot help thinking an amount of brain power hasbeen held in check among us. Yet I cannot abide those Northern women, with their suffrage views and abolition cant. They just shock me. "

"But your mother was a Northern woman, " said Eugene. 

"Yes; but she got bravely over her Northern ideas. As I remember her, she was just as much a Southerner as if she had been to the manor born. She came here as a school-teacher, but soon after she came she marriedmy father. He was easy and indulgent with his servants, and held themwith a very loose rein. But my mother was firm and energetic. She madethe niggers move around. No shirking nor dawdling with her. When myfather died, she took matters in hand, but she only outlived him a fewmonths. If she had lived I believe that she would have retrieved ourfortune. I know that she had more executive ability than my father. Hewas very squeamish about selling his servants, but she would have putevery one of them in her pocket before permitting them to eat her out ofhouse and home. But whom _are_ you going to marry?"

"A young lady who graduates from a Northern seminary next week, "responded Eugene. 

"I think you are very selfish, " said Lorraine. "You might have inviteda fellow to go with you to be your best man. "

"The wedding is to be strictly private. The lady whom I am to marry hasnegro blood in her veins. "

"The devil she has!" exclaimed Lorraine, starting to his feet, andlooking incredulously on the face of Leroy. "Are you in earnest? Surelyyou must be jesting. "

"I am certainly in earnest, " answered Eugene Leroy. "I mean every word Isay. "

"Oh, it can't be possible! Are you mad?" exclaimed Lorraine. 

"Never was saner in my life. "

"What under heaven could have possessed you to do such a foolish thing?Where did she come from. "

"Right here, on this plantation. But I have educated and manumitted her, and I intend marrying her. "

"Why, Eugene, it is impossible that you can have an idea of marrying oneof your slaves. Why, man, she is your property, to have and to hold toall intents and purposes. Are you not satisfied with the power andpossession the law gives you?"

"No. Although the law makes her helpless in my hands, to me herdefenselessness is her best defense. "

"Eugene, we have known each other all of our lives, and, although I havealways regarded you as eccentric, I never saw you so completely off yourbalance before. The idea of you, with your proud family name, your vastwealth in land and negroes, intending to marry one of them, is a mysteryI cannot solve. Do explain to me why you are going to take thisextremely strange and foolish step. "

"You never saw Marie?"

"No; and I don't want to. "

"She is very beautiful. In the North no one would suspect that she hasone drop of negro blood in her veins, but here, where I am known, tomarry her is to lose caste. I could live with her, and not incur much ifany social opprobrium. Society would wink at the transgression, even ifafter she had become the mother of my children I should cast her off andsend her and them to the auction block. "

"Men, " replied Lorraine, "would merely shrug their shoulders; womenwould say you had been sowing your wild oats. Your money, like charity, would cover a multitude of faults. "

"But if I make her my lawful wife and recognize her children as mylegitimate heirs, I subject myself to social ostracism and a senselesspersecution. We Americans boast of freedom, and yet here is a woman whomI love as I never loved any other human being, but both law and publicopinion debar me from following the inclination of my heart. She isbeautiful, faithful, and pure, and yet all that society will tolerate iswhat I would scorn to do. "

"But has not society the right to guard the purity of its blood by therigid exclusion of an alien race?"

"Excluding it! How?" asked Eugene. 

"By debarring it from social intercourse. "

"Perhaps it has, " continued Eugene, "but should not society have agreater ban for those who, by consorting with an alien race, rob theiroffspring of a right to their names and to an inheritance in theirproperty, and who fix their social status among an enslaved and outcastrace? Don't eye me so curiously; I am not losing my senses. "

"I think you have done that already, " said Lorraine. "Don't you knowthat if she is as fair as a lily, beautiful as a houri, and chaste asice, that still she is a negro?"

"Oh, come now; she isn't much of a negro. "

"It doesn't matter, however. One drop of negro blood in her veins cursesall the rest. "

"I know it, " said Eugene, sadly, "but I have weighed the consequences, and am prepared to take them. "

"Well, Eugene, your course is _so_ singular! I do wish that you wouldtell me why you take this unprecedented step?"

Eugene laid aside his cigar, looked thoughtfully at Lorraine, and said, "Well, Alfred, as we are kinsmen and life-long friends, I will notresent your asking my reason for doing that which seems to you theclimax of absurdity, and if you will have the patience to listen I willtell you. "

"Proceed, I am all attention. "

"My father died, " said Eugene, "as you know, when I was too young toknow his loss or feel his care and, being an only child, I was pettedand spoiled. I grew up to be wayward, self-indulgent, proud, andimperious. I went from home and made many friends both at college and inforeign lands. I was well supplied with money and, never having beenforced to earn it, was ignorant of its value and careless of its use. Mylavish expenditures and liberal benefactions attracted to me a numberof parasites, and men older than myself led me into the paths of vice, and taught me how to gather the flowers of sin which blossom around theborders of hell. In a word, I left my home unwarned and unarmed againstthe seductions of vice. I returned an initiated devotee to debasingpleasures. Years of my life were passed in foreign lands; years in whichmy soul slumbered and seemed pervaded with a moral paralysis; years, thememory of which fills my soul with sorrow and shame. I went to thecapitals of the old world to see life, but in seeing life I becameacquainted with death, the death of true manliness and self-respect. Youlook astonished; but I tell you, Alf, there is many a poor clod-hopper, on whom are the dust and grime of unremitting toil, who feels moreself-respect and true manliness than many of us with our familyprestige, social position, and proud ancestral halls. After I had livedabroad for years, I returned a broken-down young man, prematurely old, my constitution a perfect wreck. A life of folly and dissipation wastelling fearfully upon me. My friends shrank from me in dismay. I wassick nigh unto death, and had it not been for Marie's care I am certainthat I should have died. She followed me down to the borders of thegrave, and won me back to life and health. I was slow in recovering and, during the time, I had ample space for reflection, and the past unrolleditself before me. I resolved, over the wreck and ruin of my past life, to build a better and brighter future. Marie had a voice of remarkablesweetness, although it lacked culture. Often when I was nervous andrestless I would have her sing some of those weird and plaintivemelodies which she had learned from the plantation negroes. Sometimes Iencouraged her to talk, and I was surprised at the native vigor of herintellect. By degrees I became acquainted with her history. She was allalone in the world. She had no recollection of her father, butremembered being torn from her mother while clinging to her dress. Thetrader who bought her mother did not wish to buy her. She rememberedhaving a brother, with whom she used to play, but she had been separatedfrom him also, and since then had lost all trace of them. After she wassold from her mother she became the property of an excellent old lady, who seems to have been very careful to imbue her mind with goodprinciples; a woman who loved purity, not only for her own daughters, but also for the defenseless girls in her home. I believe it was thelady's intention to have freed Marie at her death, but she diedsuddenly, and, the estate being involved, she was sold with it and fellinto the hands of my agent. I became deeply interested in her when Iheard her story, and began to pity her. "

"And I suppose love sprang from pity. "

"I not only pitied her, but I learned to respect her. I had met withbeautiful women in the halls of wealth and fashion, both at home andabroad, but there was something in her different from all my experienceof womanhood. "

"I should think so, " said Lorraine, with a sneer; "but I should like toknow what it was. "

"It was something such as I have seen in old cathedrals, lighting up thebeauty of a saintly face. A light which the poet tells was never seen onland or sea. I thought of this beautiful and defenseless girl adrift inthe power of a reckless man, who, with all the advantages of wealth andeducation, had trailed his manhood in the dust, and she, with simple, childlike faith in the Unseen, seemed to be so good and pure that shecommanded my respect and won my heart. In her presence every base andunholy passion died, subdued by the supremacy of her virtue. "

"Why, Eugene, what has come over you? Talking of the virtue of thesequadroon girls! You have lived so long in the North and abroad, that youseem to have lost the cue of our Southern life. Don't you know thatthese beautiful girls have been the curse of our homes? You have no ideaof the hearts which are wrung by their presence. "

"But, Alfred, suppose it is so. Are they to blame for it? What can anywoman do when she is placed in the hands of an irresponsible master;when she knows that resistance is vain? Yes, Alfred, I agree with you, these women are the bane of our Southern civilization; but they are thevictims and we are the criminals. "

"I think from the airs that some of them put on when they get a chance, that they are very willing victims. "

"So much the worse for our institution. If it is cruel to debase ahapless victim, it is an increase of cruelty to make her contented withher degradation. Let me tell you, Alf, you cannot wrong or degrade awoman without wronging or degrading yourself. "

"What is the matter with you, Eugene? Are you thinking of takingpriest's orders?"

"No, Alf, " said Eugene, rising and rapidly pacing the floor, "you maydefend the system as much as you please, but you cannot deny that thecircumstances it creates, and the temptations it affords, are sappingour strength and undermining our character. "

"That may be true, " said Lorraine, somewhat irritably, "but you hadbetter be careful how you air your Northern notions in public. "

"Why so?"

"Because public opinion is too sensitive to tolerate any suchdiscussions. "

"And is not that a proof that we are at fault with respect to ourinstitutions?"

"I don't know. I only know we are living in the midst of a magazine ofpowder, and it is not safe to enter it with a lighted candle. "

"Let me proceed with my story, " continued Eugene. "During the longmonths in which I was convalescing, I was left almost entirely to thecompanionship of Marie. In my library I found a Bible, which I began toread from curiosity, but my curiosity deepened into interest when I sawthe rapt expression on Marie's face. I saw in it a loving response tosentiments to which I was a stranger. In the meantime my conscience wasawakened, and I scorned to take advantage of her defenselessness. I feltthat I owed my life to her faithful care, and I resolved to take herNorth, manumit, educate, and marry her. I sent her to a Northernacademy, but as soon as some of the pupils found that she was colored, objections were raised, and the principal was compelled to dismiss her. During my search for a school I heard of one where three girls of mixedblood were pursuing their studies, every one of whom would have beenignominiously dismissed had their connection with the negro race beenknown. But I determined to run no risks. I found a school where herconnection with the negro race would be no bar to her advancement. Shegraduates next week, and I intend to marry her before I return home. Shewas faithful when others were faithless, stood by me when othersdeserted me to die in loneliness and neglect, and now I am about toreward her care with all the love and devotion it is in my power tobestow. That is why I am about to marry my faithful and devoted nurse, who snatched me from the jaws of death. Now that I have told you mystory, what say you?"

"Madness and folly inconceivable!" exclaimed Lorraine. 

"What to you is madness and folly is perfect sanity with me. After all, Alf, is there not an amount of unreason in our prejudices?"

"That may be true; but I wasn't reasoned into it, and I do not expect tobe reasoned out of it. "

"Will you accompany me North?"

"No; except to put you in an insane asylum. You are the greatest crankout, " said Lorraine, thoroughly disgusted. 

"No, thank you; I'm all right. I expect to start North to-morrow. Youhad better come and go. "

"I would rather follow you to your grave, " replied Lorraine, hotly, while an expression of ineffable scorn passed over his cold, proud face. 

CHAPTER X. 

SHADOWS IN THE HOME. 

On the next morning after this conversation Leroy left for the North, toattend the commencement and witness the graduation of his ward. Arrivingin Ohio, he immediately repaired to the academy and inquired for theprincipal. He was shown into the reception-room, and in a few momentsthe principal entered. 

"Good morning, " said Leroy, rising and advancing towards him; "how is myward this morning?"

"She is well, and has been expecting you. I am glad you came in time forthe commencement. She stands among the foremost in her class. "

"I am glad to hear it. Will you send her this?" said Leroy, handing theprincipal a card. The principal took the card and immediately left theroom. 

Very soon Leroy heard a light step, and looking up he saw a radiantlybeautiful woman approaching him. 

"Good morning, Marie, " he said, greeting her cordially, and gazing uponher with unfeigned admiration. "You are looking very handsome thismorning. "

"Do you think so?" she asked, smiling and blushing. "I am glad you arenot disappointed; that you do not feel your money has been spent invain. "

"Oh, no, what I have spent on your education has been the bestinvestment I ever made. "

"I hope, " said Marie, "you may always find it so. But Mas----"

"Hush!" said Leroy, laying his hand playfully on her lips; "you arefree. I don't want the dialect of slavery to linger on your lips. Youmust not call me that name again. "

"Why not?"

"Because I have a nearer and dearer one by which I wish to be called. "

Leroy drew her nearer, and whispered in her ear a single word. Shestarted, trembled with emotion, grew pale, and blushed painfully. Anawkward silence ensued, when Leroy, pressing her hand, exclaimed: "Thisis the hand that plucked me from the grave, and I am going to retain itas mine; mine to guard with my care until death us do part. "

Leroy looked earnestly into her eyes, which fell beneath his ardentgaze. With admirable self-control, while a great joy was thrilling herheart, she bowed her beautiful head and softly repeated, "Until death usdo part. "

Leroy knew Southern society too well to expect it to condone his offenseagainst its social customs, or give the least recognition to his wife, however cultured, refined, and charming she might be, if it were knownthat she had the least infusion of negro blood in her veins. But he wasbrave enough to face the consequences of his alliance, and marry thewoman who was the choice of his heart, and on whom his affections werecentred. 

After Leroy had left the room, Marie sat awhile thinking of thewonderful change that had come over her. Instead of being a lonely slavegirl, with the fatal dower of beauty, liable to be bought and sold, exchanged, and bartered, she was to be the wife of a wealthy planter; aman in whose honor she could confide, and on whose love she could lean. 

Very interesting and pleasant were the commencement exercises in whichMarie bore an important part. To enlist sympathy for her enslaved race, and appear to advantage before Leroy, had aroused all of her energies. The stimulus of hope, the manly love which was environing her life, brightened her eye and lit up the wonderful beauty of her countenance. During her stay in the North she had constantly been brought in contactwith anti-slavery people. She was not aware that there was so muchkindness among the white people of the country until she had tested itin the North. From the anti-slavery people in private life she hadlearned some of the noblest lessons of freedom and justice, and hadbecome imbued with their sentiments. Her theme was "AmericanCivilization, its Lights and Shadows. "

Graphically she portrayed the lights, faithfully she showed the shadowsof our American civilization. Earnestly and feelingly she spoke of theblind Sampson in our land, who might yet shake the pillars of our greatCommonwealth. Leroy listened attentively. At times a shadow of annoyancewould overspread his face, but it was soon lost in the admiration herearnestness and zeal inspired. Like Esther pleading for the lives of herpeople in the Oriental courts of a despotic king, she stood before theaudience, pleading for those whose lips were sealed, but whose conditionappealed to the mercy and justice of the Nation. Strong men wiped themoisture from their eyes, and women's hearts throbbed in unison with thestrong, brave words that were uttered in behalf of freedom for all andchains for none. Generous applause was freely bestowed, and beautifulbouquets were showered upon her. When it was known that she was to bethe wife of her guardian, warm congratulations were given, and earnesthopes expressed for the welfare of the lonely girl, who, nearly all herlife, had been deprived of a parent's love and care. On the eve ofstarting South Leroy procured a license, and united his destiny with theyoung lady whose devotion in the darkest hour had won his love andgratitude. 

In a few days Marie returned as mistress to the plantation from whichshe had gone as a slave. But as unholy alliances were common in thosedays between masters and slaves, no one took especial notice that Marieshared Leroy's life as mistress of his home, and that the family silverand jewelry were in her possession. But Leroy, happy in his choice, attended to the interests of his plantation, and found companionship inhis books and in the society of his wife. A few male companions visitedhim occasionally, admired the magnificent beauty of his wife, shooktheir heads, and spoke of him as being very eccentric, but thought hismarriage the great mistake of his life. But none of his female friendsever entered his doors, when it became known that Marie held theposition of mistress of his mansion, and presided at his table. But she, sheltered in the warm clasp of loving arms, found her life like a joyousdream. 

Into that quiet and beautiful home three children were born, unconsciousof the doom suspended over their heads. 

"Oh, how glad I am, " Marie would often say, "that these children arefree. I could never understand how a cultured white man could have hisown children enslaved. I can understand how savages, fighting with eachother, could doom their vanquished foes to slavery, but it has alwaysbeen a puzzle to me how a civilized man could drag his own children, bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh, down to the position of socialoutcasts, abject slaves, and political pariahs. "

"But, Marie, " said Eugene, "all men do not treat their illegitimatechildren in the manner you describe. The last time I was in New OrleansI met Henri Augustine at the depot, with two beautiful young girls. Atfirst I thought that they were his own children, they resembled him soclosely. But afterwards I noticed that they addressed him as 'Mister. 'Before we parted he told me that his wife had taken such a dislike totheir mother that she could not bear to see them on the place. At last, weary of her dissatisfaction, he had promised to bring them to NewOrleans and sell them. Instead, he was going to Ohio to give them theirfreedom, and make provision for their future. "

"What a wrong!" said Marie. 

"Who was wronged?" said Leroy, in astonishment. 

"Every one in the whole transaction, " answered Marie. "Your friendwronged himself by sinning against his own soul. He wronged his wife byarousing her hatred and jealousy through his unfaithfulness. He wrongedthose children by giving them the _status_ of slaves and outcasts. Hewronged their mother by imposing upon her the burdens and cares ofmaternity without the rights and privileges of a wife. He made her crownof motherhood a circlet of shame. Under other circumstances she mighthave been an honored wife and happy mother. And I do think such menwrong their own legitimate children by transmitting to them a weakenedmoral fibre. "

"Oh, Marie, you have such an uncomfortable way of putting things. Youmake me feel that we have done those things which we ought not to havedone, and have left undone those things which we ought to have done. "

"If it annoys you, " said Marie, "I will stop talking. "

"Oh, no, go on, " said Leroy, carelessly; and then he continued morethoughtfully, "I know a number of men who have sent such children North, and manumitted, educated, and left them valuable legacies. We are allliable to err, and, having done wrong, all we can do is to makereparation. "

"My dear husband, this is a wrong where reparation is impossible. Neither wealth nor education can repair the wrong of a dishonored birth. There are a number of slaves in this section who are servants to theirown brothers and sisters; whose fathers have robbed them not simply ofliberty but of the right of being well born. Do you think these thingswill last forever?"

"I suppose not. There are some prophets of evil who tell us that theUnion is going to dissolve. But I know it would puzzle their brains totell where the crack will begin. I reckon we'll continue to jog along asusual. 'Cotton fights, and cotton conquers for American slavery. '"

Even while Leroy dreamed of safety the earthquake was cradling its fire;the ground was growing hollow beneath his tread; but his ear was toodull to catch the sound; his vision too blurred to read the signs of thetimes. 

"Marie, " said Leroy, taking up the thread of the discourse, "slavery isa sword that cuts both ways. If it wrongs the negro, it also curses thewhite man. But we are in it, and what can we do?"

"Get out of it as quickly as possible. "

"That is easier said than done. I would willingly free every slave on myplantation if I could do so without expatriating them. Some of them havewives and children on other plantations, and to free them is to separatethem from their kith and kin. To let them remain here as a free peopleis out of the question. My hands are tied by law and custom. "

"Who tied them?" asked Marie. 

"A public opinion, whose meshes I cannot break. If the negro is thethrall of his master, we are just as much the thralls of publicopinion. "

"Why do you not battle against public opinion, if you think it iswrong?"

"Because I have neither the courage of a martyr, nor the faith of asaint; and so I drift along, trying to make the condition of our slavesas comfortable as I possibly can. I believe there are slaves on thisplantation whom the most flattering offers of freedom would not enticeaway. "

"I do not think, " said Marie, "that some of you planters understand yourown slaves. Lying is said to be the vice of slaves. The more intelligentof them have so learned to veil their feelings that you do not see theundercurrent of discontent beneath their apparent good humor andjollity. The more discontented they are, the more I respect them. To mea contented slave is an abject creature. I hope that I shall see theday when there will not be a slave in the land. I hate the whole thingfrom the bottom of my heart. "

"Marie, your Northern education has unfitted you for Southern life. Youare free, yourself, and so are our children. Why not let well enoughalone?"

"Because I love liberty, not only for myself but for every human being. Think how dear these children are to me; and then for the thought to beforever haunting me, that if you were dead they could be turned out ofdoors and divided among your relatives. I sometimes lie awake at nightthinking of how there might be a screw loose somewhere, and, after all, the children and I might be reduced to slavery. "

"Marie, what in the world is the matter with you? Have you had apresentiment of my death, or, as Uncle Jack says, 'hab you seed it in avision?'"

"No, but I have had such sad forebodings that they almost set me wild. One night I dreamt that you were dead; that the lawyers entered thehouse, seized our property, and remanded us to slavery. I never can besatisfied in the South with such a possibility hanging over my head. "

"Marie, dear, you are growing nervous. Your imagination is too active. You are left too much alone on this plantation. I hope that for your ownand the children's sake I will be enabled to arrange our affairs so asto find a home for you where you will not be doomed to the socialisolation and ostracism that surround you here. "

"I don't mind the isolation for myself, but the children. You haveenjoined silence on me with respect to their connection with the negrorace, but I do not think we can conceal it from them very long. It willnot be long before Iola will notice the offishness of girls of her ownage, and the scornful glances which, even now, I think, are leveled ather. Yesterday Harry came crying to me, and told me that one of theneighbor's boys had called him 'nigger. '"

A shadow flitted over Leroy's face, as he answered, somewhat soberly, "Oh, Marie, do not meet trouble half way. I have manumitted you, and thechildren will follow your condition. I have made you all legatees of mywill. Except my cousin, Alfred Lorraine, I have only distant relatives, whom I scarcely know and who hardly know me. "

"Your cousin Lorraine? Are you sure our interests would be safe in hishands?"

"I think so; I don't think Alfred would do anything dishonorable. "

"He might not with his equals. But how many men would be bound by asense of honor where the rights of a colored woman are in question? Yourcousin was bitterly opposed to our marriage, and I would not trust anyimportant interests in his hands. I do hope that in providing for ourfuture you will make assurance doubly sure. "

"I certainly will, and all that human foresight can do shall be done foryou and our children. "

"Oh, " said Marie, pressing to her heart a beautiful child of sixsummers, "I think it would almost make me turn over in my grave to knowthat every grace and charm which this child possesses would only be somuch added to her value as an article of merchandise. "

As Marie released the child from her arms she looked wonderingly intoher mother's face and clung closely to her, as if to find refuge fromsome unseen evil. Leroy noticed this, and sighed unconsciously, as anexpression of pain flitted over his face. 

"Now, Marie, " he continued, "stop tormenting yourself with uselessfears. Although, with all her faults, I still love the South, I willmake arrangements either to live North or go to France. There life willbe brighter for us all. Now, Marie, seat yourself at the piano andsing:--

 'Sing me the songs that to me were so dear, Long, long ago. Sing me the songs I delighted to hear, Long, long ago. "

As Marie sang the anxiety faded from her face, a sense of security stoleover her, and she sat among her loved ones a happy wife and mother. Whatif no one recognized her on that lonely plantation! Her world was, nevertheless, there. The love and devotion of her husband brightenedevery avenue of her life, while her children filled her home with music, mirth, and sunshine. 

Marie had undertaken their education, but she could not give them theculture which comes from the attrition of thought, and from contact withthe ideas of others. Since her school-days she had read extensively andthought much, and in solitude her thoughts had ripened. But for herchildren there were no companions except the young slaves of theplantation, and she dreaded the effect of such intercourse upon theirlives and characters. 

Leroy had always been especially careful to conceal from his childrenthe knowledge of their connection with the negro race. To Marie thissilence was oppressive. 

One day she said to him, "I see no other way of finishing the educationof these children than by sending them to some Northern school. "

"I have come, " said Leroy, "to the same conclusion. We had better takeIola and Harry North and make arrangements for them to spend severalyears in being educated. Riches take wings to themselves and fly away, but a good education is an investment on which the law can place noattachment. As there is a possibility of their origin being discovered, I will find a teacher to whom I can confide our story, and upon whom Ican enjoin secrecy. I want them well fitted for any emergency in life. When I discover for what they have the most aptitude I will give themespecial training in that direction. "

A troubled look passed over the face of Marie, as she hesitatingly said:"I am so afraid that you will regret our marriage when you fully realizethe complications it brings. "

"No, no, " said Leroy, tenderly, "it is not that I regret our marriage, or feel the least disdain for our children on account of the blood intheir veins; but I do not wish them to grow up under the contractinginfluence of this race prejudice. I do not wish them to feel that theyhave been born under a proscription from which no valor can redeem them, nor that any social advancement or individual development can wipe offthe ban which clings to them. No, Marie, let them go North, learn allthey can, aspire all they may. The painful knowledge will come all toosoon. Do not forestall it. I want them simply to grow up as otherchildren; not being patronized by friends nor disdained by foes. "

"My dear husband, you may be perfectly right, but are you not preparingour children for a fearful awakening? Are you not acting on the plan, 'After me the deluge?'"

"Not at all, Marie. I want our children to grow up without having theirself-respect crushed in the bud. You know that the North is not freefrom racial prejudice. "

"I know it, " said Marie, sadly, "and I think one of the great mistakesof our civilization is that which makes color, and not character, asocial test. "

"I think so, too, " said Leroy. "The strongest men and women of adown-trodden race may bare their bosoms to an adverse fate and developcourage in the midst of opposition, but we have no right to subject ourchildren to such crucial tests before their characters are formed. Foryears, when I lived abroad, I had an opportunity to see and hear of menof African descent who had distinguished themselves and obtained arecognition in European circles, which they never could have gained inthis country. I now recall the name of Ira Aldridge, a colored man fromNew York City, who was covered with princely honors as a successfultragedian. Alexander Dumas was not forced to conceal his origin tosucceed as a novelist. When I was in St. Petersburg I was shown theworks of Alexander Sergevitch, a Russian poet, who was spoken of as theByron of Russian literature, and reckoned one of the finest poets thatRussia has produced in this century. He was also a prominent figure infashionable society, and yet he was of African lineage. One of hispaternal ancestors was a negro who had been ennobled by Peter theGreat. I can't help contrasting the recognition which these men hadreceived with the treatment which has been given to Frederick Douglassand other intelligent colored men in this country. With me the wonder isnot that they have achieved so little, but that they have accomplishedso much. No, Marie, we will have our children educated without beingsubjected to the depressing influences of caste feeling. Perhaps by thetime their education is finished I will be ready to wind up my affairsand take them abroad, where merit and ability will give them entranceinto the best circles of art, literature, and science. "

After this conversation Leroy and his wife went North, and succeeded infinding a good school for their children. In a private interview heconfided to the principal the story of the cross in their blood, and, finding him apparently free from racial prejudice, he gladly left thechildren in his care. Gracie, the youngest child, remained at home, andher mother spared no pains to fit her for the seminary against the timeher sister should have finished her education. 

CHAPTER XI. 

THE PLAGUE AND THE LAW. 

Years passed, bringing no special change to the life of Leroy and hiswife. Shut out from the busy world, its social cares and anxieties, Marie's life flowed peacefully on. Although removed by the protectingcare of Leroy from the condition of servitude, she still retained a deepsympathy for the enslaved, and was ever ready to devise plans toameliorate their condition. 

Leroy, although in the midst of slavery, did not believe in therightfulness of the institution. He was in favor of gradualemancipation, which would prepare both master and slave for a moraladaptation to the new conditions of freedom. While he was willing tohave the old rivets taken out of slavery, politicians and planters weredevising plans to put in new screws. He was desirous of having it endedin the States; they were clamorous to have it established in theTerritories. 

But so strong was the force of habit, combined with the feebleness ofhis moral resistance and the nature of his environment, that instead ofbeing an athlete, armed for a glorious strife, he had learned to driftwhere he should have steered, to float with the current instead of noblybreasting the tide. He conducted his plantation with as much lenity asit was possible to infuse into a system darkened with the shadow of amillion crimes. 

Leroy had always been especially careful not to allow his children tospend their vacations at home. He and Marie generally spent that timewith them at some summer resort. 

"I would like, " said Marie, one day, "to have our children spend theirvacations at home. Those summer resorts are pleasant, yet, after all, there is no place like home. But, " and her voice became tremulous, "ourchildren would now notice their social isolation and inquire the cause. "A faint sigh arose to the lips of Leroy, as she added: "Man is a socialbeing; I've known it to my sorrow. "

There was a tone of sadness in Leroy's voice, as he replied: "Yes, Marie, let them stay North. We seem to be entering on a period fraughtwith great danger. I cannot help thinking and fearing that we are on theeve of a civil war. "

"A civil war!" exclaimed Marie, with an air of astonishment. "A civilwar about what?"

"Why, Marie, the thing looks to me so wild and foolish I hardly know howto explain. But some of our leading men have come to the conclusion thatNorth and South had better separate, and instead of having one to havetwo independent governments. The spirit of secession is rampant in theland. I do not know what the result will be, and I fear it will bode nogood to the country. Between the fire-eating Southerners and themeddling Abolitionists we are about to be plunged into a great deal oftrouble. I fear there are breakers ahead. The South is dissatisfied withthe state of public opinion in the North. We are realizing that we aretwo peoples in the midst of one nation. William H. Seward hasproclaimed that the conflict between freedom and slavery isirrepressible, and that the country cannot remain half free and halfslave. "

"How will _you_ go?" asked Marie. 

"My heart is with the Union. I don't believe in secession. There hasbeen no cause sufficient to justify a rupture. The North has met us timeand again in the spirit of concession and compromise. When we wanted thecontinuance of the African slave trade the North conceded that we shouldhave twenty years of slave-trading for the benefit of our plantations. When we wanted more territory she conceded to our desires and gave usland enough to carve out four States, and there yet remains enough forfour more. When we wanted power to recapture our slaves when they fledNorth for refuge, Daniel Webster told Northerners to conquer theirprejudices, and they gave us the whole Northern States as a huntingground for our slaves. The Presidential chair has been filled thegreater number of years by Southerners, and the majority of offices hasbeen shared by our men. We wanted representation in Congress on a basiswhich would include our slaves, and the North, whose suffrage representsonly men, gave us a three-fifths representation for our slaves, whom wecount as property. I think the step will be suicidal. There areextremists in both sections, but I hope, between them both, wisecounsels and measures will prevail. "

Just then Alfred Lorraine was ushered into the room. Occasionally hevisited Leroy, but he always came alone. His wife was the only daughterof an enterprising slave-trader, who had left her a large amount ofproperty. 

Her social training was deficient, her education limited, but she wastoo proud of being a pure white woman to enter the home of Leroy, withMarie as its presiding genius. Lorraine tolerated Marie's presence as anecessary evil, while to her he always seemed like a presentiment oftrouble. With his coming a shadow fell upon her home, hushing its musicand darkening its sunshine. A sense of dread oppressed her. There cameinto her soul an intuitive feeling that somehow his coming was fraughtwith danger. When not peering around she would often catch his eyes benton her with a baleful expression. 

Leroy and his cousin immediately fell into a discussion on the conditionof the country. Lorraine was a rank Secessionist, ready to adopt themost extreme measures of the leaders of the movement, even to thereopening of the slave trade. Leroy thought a dissolution of the Unionwould involve a fearful expenditure of blood and treasure for which, before the eyes of the world, there could be no justification. Thedebate lasted late into the night, leaving both Lorraine and Leroy justas set in their opinions as they were before they began. Marie listenedattentively awhile, then excused herself and withdrew. 

After Lorraine had gone Marie said: "There is something about yourcousin that fills me with nameless dread. I always feel when he entersthe room as if some one were walking over my grave. I do wish he wouldstay at home. "

"I wish so, too, since he disturbs you. But, Marie, you are growingnervous. How cold your hands are. Don't you feel well?"

"Oh, yes; I am only a little faint. I wish he would never come. But, ashe does, I must make the best of it. "

"Yes, Marie, treat him well for my sake. He is the only relative I havewho ever darkens our doors. "

"I have no faith in his friendship for either myself or my children. Ifeel that while he makes himself agreeable to you he hates me from thebottom of his heart, and would do anything to get me out of the way. Oh, I am _so_ glad I am your lawful wife, and that you married me before youbrought me back to this State! I believe that if you were gone hewouldn't have the least scruple against trying to prove our marriageinvalid and remanding us to slavery. "

Leroy looked anxiously and soberly at his wife, and said: "Marie, I donot think so. Your life is too lonely here. Write your orders to NewOrleans, get what you need for the journey, and let us spend the summersomewhere in the North. "

Just then Marie's attention was drawn to some household matters, and itwas a short time before she returned. 

"Tom, " continued Leroy, "has just brought the mail, and here is a letterfrom Iola. "

Marie noticed that he looked quite sober as he read, and that anexpression of vexation was lingering on his lips. 

"What is the matter?" asked Marie. 

"Nothing much; only a tempest in a teapot. The presence of a coloredgirl in Mr. Galen's school has caused a breeze of excitement. You knowMr. Galen is quite an Abolitionist, and, being true to his principles, he could not consistently refuse when a colored woman applied for herdaughter's admission. Of course, when he took her he was compelled totreat her as any other pupil. In so doing he has given mortal offense tothe mother of two Southern boys. She has threatened to take them away ifthe colored girl remains. "

"What will he do about it?" asked Marie, thoughtfully. 

"Oh, it is a bitter pill, but I think he will have to swallow it. He isbetween two fires. He cannot dismiss her from the school and be true tohis Abolition principles; yet if he retains her he will lose hisSouthern customers, and I know he cannot afford to do that. "

"What does Iola say?"

"He has found another boarding place for her, but she is to remain inthe school. He had to throw that sop to the whale. "

"Does she take sides against the girl?"

"No, I don't think she does. She says she feels sorry for her, and thatshe would hate to be colored. 'It is so hard to be looked down on forwhat one can't help. '"

"Poor child! I wish we could leave the country. I never would consent toher marrying any one without first revealing to him her connection withthe negro race. This is a subject on which I am not willing to run anyrisks. "

"My dear Marie, when you shall have read Iola's letter you will see itis more than a figment of my imagination that has made me so loth tohave our children know the paralyzing power of caste. "

Leroy, always liberal with his wife and children, spared neither painsnor expense to have them prepared for their summer outing. Iola was tograduate in a few days. Harry was attending a school in the State ofMaine, and his father had written to him, apprising him of his intentionto come North that season. In a few days Leroy and his wife startedNorth, but before they reached Vicksburg they were met by theintelligence that the yellow fever was spreading in the Delta, and thatpestilence was breathing its bane upon the morning air and distillingits poison upon the midnight dews. 

"Let us return home, " said Marie. 

"It is useless, " answered Leroy. "It is nearly two days since we lefthome. The fever is spreading south of us with fearful rapidity. Toreturn home is to walk into the jaws of death. It was my intention tohave stopped at Vicksburg, but now I will go on as soon as I can makethe connections. "

Early next morning Leroy and his wife started again on their journey. The cars were filled with terror-stricken people who were fleeing fromdeath, when death was everywhere. They fled from the city only to meetthe dreaded apparition in the country. As they journeyed on Leroy grewrestless and feverish. He tried to brace himself against the infectionwhich was creeping slowly but insidiously into his life, dulling hisbrain, fevering his blood, and prostrating his strength. But vain wereall his efforts. He had no armor strong enough to repel the invasion ofdeath. They stopped at a small town on the way and obtained the bestmedical skill and most careful nursing, but neither skill nor artavailed. On the third day death claimed Leroy as a victim, and Mariewept in hopeless agony over the grave of her devoted husband, whose sadlot it was to die from home and be buried among strangers. 

But before he died he placed his will in Marie's hands, saying: "I haveleft you well provided for. Kiss the children for me and bid themgood-bye. "

He tried to say a parting word to Gracie, but his voice failed, and hefainted into the stillness of death. A mortal paleness overspread hiscountenance, on which had already gathered the shadows that neverdeceive. In speechless agony Marie held his hand until it released itspressure in death, and then she stood alone beside her dead, with allthe bright sunshine of her life fading into the shadows of the grave. Heart-broken and full of fearful forebodings, Marie left her cherisheddead in the quiet village of H---- and returned to her death-darkenedhome. 

It was a lovely day in June, birds were singing their sweetest songs, flowers were breathing their fragrance on the air, when Mam Liza, sitting at her cabin-door, talking with some of the house servants, sawa carriage approaching, and wondered who was coming. 

"I wonder, " she said, excitedly, "whose comin' to de house when de folksis done gone. "

But her surprise was soon changed to painful amazement, when she sawMarie, robed in black, alighting from the carriage, and holding Gracieby the hand. She caught sight of the drooping head and grief-strickenface, and rushed to her, exclaiming:--

"Whar's Marse Eugene?"

"Dead, " said Marie, falling into Mammy Liza's arms, sobbing out, "dead!_ died_ of yellow fever. "

A wild burst of sorrow came from the lips of the servants, who haddrawn near. 

"Where is he?" said Mam Liza, speaking like one suddenly bewildered. 

"He is buried in H----. I could not bring him home, " said Marie. 

"My pore baby, " said Mam Liza, with broken sobs. "I'se drefful sorry. Myheart's most broke into two. " Then, controlling herself, she dismissedthe servants who stood around, weeping, and led Marie to her room. 

"Come, honey, lie down an' lem'me git yer a cup ob tea. "

"Oh, no; I don't want anything, " said Marie, wringing her hands inbitter agony. 

"Oh, honey, " said Mam Liza, "yer musn't gib up. Yer knows whar to putyer trus'. Yer can't lean on de arm of flesh in dis tryin' time. "Kneeling by the side of her mistress she breathed out a prayer full oftenderness, hope, and trust. 

Marie grew calmer. It seemed as if that earnest, trustful prayer hadbreathed into her soul a feeling of resignation. 

Gracie stood wonderingly by, vainly trying to comprehend the greatsorrow which was overwhelming the life of her mother. 

After the first great burst of sorrow was over, Marie sat down to herdesk and wrote a letter to Iola, informing her of her father's death. Bythe time she had finished it she grew dizzy and faint, and fell into aswoon. Mammy Liza tenderly laid her on the bed, and helped restore herto consciousness. 

Lorraine, having heard of his cousin's death, came immediately to seeMarie. She was too ill to have an interview with him, but he picked upthe letter she had written and obtained Iola's address. 

Lorraine made a careful investigation of the case, to ascertain whetherMarie's marriage was valid. To his delight he found there was a flaw inthe marriage and an informality in the manumission. He then determinedto invalidate Marie's claim, and divide the inheritance among Leroy'swhite relations. In a short time strangers, distant relatives of herhusband, became frequent visitors at the plantation, and made themselvesoffensively familiar. At length the dreadful storm burst. 

Alfred Lorraine entered suit for his cousin's estate, and for theremanding of his wife and children to slavery. In a short time he camearmed with legal authority, and said to Marie:--

"I have come to take possession of these premises. "

"By what authority?" she gasped, turning deathly pale. He hesitated amoment, as if his words were arrested by a sense of shame. 

"By what authority?" she again demanded. 

"By the authority of the law, " answered Lorraine, "which has decidedthat Leroy's legal heirs are his white blood relations, and that yourmarriage is null and void. "

"But, " exclaimed Marie, "I have our marriage certificate. I was Leroy'slawful wife. "

"Your marriage certificate is not worth the paper it is written on. "

"Oh, you must be jesting, cruelly jesting. It can't be so. "

"Yes; it is so. Judge Starkins has decided that your manumission isunlawful; your marriage a bad precedent, and inimical to the welfare ofsociety; and that you and your children are remanded to slavery. "

Marie stood as one petrified. She seemed a statue of fear and despair. She tried to speak, reached out her hand as if she were groping in thedark, turned pale as death as if all the blood in her veins had recededto her heart, and, with one heart-rending cry of bitter agony, she fellsenseless to the floor. Her servants, to whom she had been so kind inher days of prosperity, bent pityingly over her, chafed her cold hands, and did what they could to restore her to consciousness. For awhile shewas stricken with brain fever, and her life seemed trembling on itsfrailest cord. 

Gracie was like one perfectly dazed. When not watching by her mother'sbedside she wandered aimlessly about the house, growing thinner day byday. A slow fever was consuming her life. Faithfully and carefully MammyLiza watched over her, and did all she could to bring smiles to her lipsand light to her fading eyes, but all in vain. Her only interest in lifewas to sit where she could watch her mother as she tossed to and fro indelirium, and to wonder what had brought the change in her once happyhome. Finally she, too, was stricken with brain fever, which intervenedas a mercy between her and the great sorrow that was overshadowing heryoung life. Tears would fill the servants' eyes as they saw the dearchild drifting from them like a lovely vision, too bright for earth'sdull cares and weary, wasting pain. 

CHAPTER XII. 

SCHOOL-GIRL NOTIONS. 

During Iola's stay in the North she found a strong tide of oppositionagainst slavery. Arguments against the institution had entered theChurch and made legislative halls the arenas of fierce debate. Thesubject had become part of the social converse of the fireside, and hadenlisted the best brain and heart of the country. Anti-slaverydiscussions were pervading the strongest literature and claiming, aplace on the most popular platforms. 

Iola, being a Southern girl and a slave-holder's daughter, alwaysdefended slavery when it was under discussion. 

"Slavery can't be wrong, " she would say, "for my father is aslave-holder, and my mother is as good to our servants as she can be. Myfather often tells her that she spoils them, and lets them run over her. I never saw my father strike one of them. I love my mammy as much as Ido my own mother, and I believe she loves us just as if we were her ownchildren. When we are sick I am sure that she could not do anything morefor us than she does. "

"But, Iola, " responded one of her school friends, "after all, they arenot free. Would you be satisfied to have the most beautiful home, thecostliest jewels, or the most elegant wardrobe if you were a slave?"

"Oh, the cases are not parallel. Our slaves do not want their freedom. They would not take it if we gave it to them. "

"That is not the case with them all. My father has seen men who haveencountered almost incredible hardships to get their freedom. Iola, didyou ever attend an anti-slavery meeting?"

"No; I don't think these Abolitionists have any right to meddle in ouraffairs. I believe they are prejudiced against us, and want to get ourproperty. I read about them in the papers when I was at home. I don'twant to hear my part of the country run down. My father says the slaveswould be very well contented if no one put wrong notions in theirheads. "

"I don't know, " was the response of her friend, "but I do not think thatthat slave mother who took her four children, crossed the Ohio River onthe ice, killed one of the children and attempted the lives of the othertwo, was a contented slave. And that other one, who, running away andfinding herself pursued, threw herself over the Long Bridge into thePotomac, was evidently not satisfied. I do not think the numbers who arecoming North on the Underground Railroad can be very contented. It isnot natural for people to run away from happiness, and if they are sohappy and contented, why did Congress pass the Fugitive Slave Bill?"

"Well, I don't think, " answered Iola, "any of our slaves would run away. I know mamma don't like slavery very much. I have often heard her saythat she hoped the time would come when there would not be a slave inthe land. My father does not think as she does. He thinks slavery is notwrong if you treat them well and don't sell them from their families. Iintend, after I have graduated, to persuade pa to buy a house in NewOrleans, and spend the winter there. You know this will be my firstseason out, and I hope that you will come and spend the winter with me. We will have such gay times, and you will so fall in love with our sunnySouth that you will never want to come back to shiver amid the snows andcold of the North. I think one winter in the South would cure you ofyour Abolitionism. "

"Have you seen her yet?"

This question was asked by Louis Bastine, an attorney who had come Northin the interests of Lorraine. The scene was the New England villagewhere Mr. Galen's academy was located, and which Iola was attending. This question was addressed to Camille Lecroix, Bastine's intimatefriend, who had lately come North. He was the son of a planter who livednear Leroy's plantation, and was familiar with Iola's family history. Since his arrival North, Bastine had met him and communicated to him hisintentions. 

"Yes; just caught a glimpse of her this morning as she was going downthe street, " was Camille's reply. 

"She is a most beautiful creature, " said Louis Bastine. "She has theproud poise of Leroy, the most splendid eyes I ever saw in a woman'shead, lovely complexion, and a glorious wealth of hair. She would bring$2000 any day in a New Orleans market. "

"I always feel sorry, " said Camille, "when I see one of those Creolegirls brought to the auction block. I have known fathers who were deeplydevoted to their daughters, but who through some reverse of fortune wereforced to part with them, and I always think the blow has been equallyterrible on both sides. I had a friend who had two beautiful daughterswhom he had educated in the North. They were cultured, and really bellesin society. They were entirely ignorant of their lineage, but when theirfather died it was discovered that their mother had been a slave. It wasa fearful blow. They would have faced poverty, but the knowledge oftheir tainted blood was more than they could bear. "

"What became of them?"

"They both died, poor girls. I believe they were as much killed by theblow as if they had been shot. To tell you the truth, Bastine, I feelsorry for this girl. I don't believe she has the least idea of her negroblood. "

"No, Leroy has been careful to conceal it from her, " replied Bastine. 

"Is that so?" queried Camille. "Then he has made a great mistake. "

"I can't help that, " said Bastine; "business is business. "

"How can you get her away?" asked Camille. "You will have to be verycautious, because if these pesky Abolitionists get an inkling of whatyou're doing they will balk your game double quick. And when you come tolook at it, isn't it a shame to attempt to reduce that girl to slavery?She is just as white as we are, as good as any girl in the land, andbetter educated than thousands of white girls. A girl with her apparentrefinement and magnificent beauty, were it not for the cross in herblood, I would be proud to introduce to our set. She would be thesensation of the season. I believe to-day it would be easier for me togo to the slums and take a young girl from there, and have herintroduced as my wife, than to have society condone the offense if Imarried that lovely girl. There is not a social circle in the South thatwould not take it as a gross insult to have her introduced into it. "

"Well, " said Bastine, "my plan is settled. Leroy has never allowed herto spend her vacations at home. I understand she is now very anxious toget home, and, as Lorraine's attorney, I have come on his account totake her home. "

"How will you do it?"

"I shall tell her her father is dangerously ill, and desires her to comeas quickly as possible. "

"And what then?"

"Have her inventoried with the rest of the property. "

"Don't she know that her father is dead?"

"I think not, " said Bastine. "She is not in mourning, but appeared verylight-hearted this morning, laughing and talking with two other girls. Iwas struck with her great beauty, and asked a gentleman who she was. Hesaid, 'Miss Leroy, of Mississippi. ' I think Lorraine has managed theaffair so as to keep her in perfect ignorance of her father's death. Idon't like the job, but I never let sentiment interfere with my work. "

Poor Iola! When she said slavery was not a bad thing, little did shethink that she was destined to drink to its bitter dregs the cup she wasso ready to press to the lips of others. 

"How do you think she will take to her situation?" asked Camille. 

"O, I guess, " said Bastine, "she will sulk and take it pretty hard atfirst; but if she is managed right she will soon get over it. Give herplenty of jewelry, fine clothes, and an easy time. "

"All this business must be conducted with the utmost secrecy and speed. Her mother could not have written to her, for she has been sufferingwith brain fever and nervous prostration since Leroy's death. Lorraineknows her market value too well, and is too shrewd to let so muchproperty pass out of his hands without making an effort to retain it. "

"Has she any brothers or sisters?"

"Yes, a brother, " replied Bastine; "but he is at another school, and Ihave no orders from Lorraine in reference to him. If I can get the girlI am willing to let well enough alone. I dread the interview with theprincipal more than anything else. I am afraid he will hem and haw, andhave his doubts. Perhaps, when he sees my letters and hears my story, Ican pull the wool over his eyes. "

"But, Louis, this is a pitiful piece of business. I should hate to beengaged in it. "

A deep flush of shame overspread for a moment the face of Lorraine'sattorney, as he replied: "I don't like the job, but I have undertakenit, and must go through with it. "

"I see no '_must_' about it. Were I in your place I would wash my handsof the whole business. "

"I can't afford it, " was Bastine's hard, business-like reply. On thenext morning after this conversation between these two young men, LouisBastine presented himself to the principal of the academy, with therequest that Iola be permitted to leave immediately to attend thesick-bed of her father, who was dangerously ill. The principalhesitated, but while he was deliberating, a telegram, purporting to comefrom Iola's mother, summoned Iola to her father's bedside without delay. The principal, set at rest in regard to the truthfulness of thedispatch, not only permitted but expedited her departure. 

Iola and Bastine took the earliest train, and traveled without pausinguntil they reached a large hotel in a Southern city. There they wereobliged to wait a few hours until they could resume their journey, thetrain having failed to make connection. Iola sat in a large, lonelyparlor, waiting for the servant to show her to a private room. She hadnever known a great sorrow. Never before had the shadows of deathmingled with the sunshine of her life. 

Anxious, travel-worn, and heavy-hearted, she sat in an easy chair, withnothing to divert her from the grief and anxiety which rendered everydelay a source of painful anxiety. 

"Oh, I hope that he will be alive and growing better!" was the thoughtwhich kept constantly revolving in her mind, until she fell asleep. Inher dreams she was at home, encircled in the warm clasp of her father'sarms, feeling her mother's kisses lingering on her lips, and hearing thejoyous greetings of the servants and Mammy Liza's glad welcome as shefolded her to her heart. From this dream of bliss she was awakened by aburning kiss pressed on her lips, and a strong arm encircling her. Gazing around and taking in the whole situation, she sprang from herseat, her eyes flashing with rage and scorn, her face flushed to theroots of her hair, her voice shaken with excitement, and every nervetrembling with angry emotion. 

"How dare you do such a thing! Don't you know if my father were here hewould crush you to the earth?"

"Not so fast, my lovely tigress, " said Bastine, "your father knew whathe was doing when he placed you in my charge. "

"My father made a great mistake, if he thought he had put me in chargeof a gentleman. "

"I am your guardian for the present, " replied Bastine. "I am to see yousafe home, and then my commission ends. "

"I wish it were ended now, " she exclaimed, trembling with anger andmortification. Her voice was choked by emotion, and broken by smotheredsobs. Louis Bastine thought to himself, "she is a real spitfire, butbeautiful even in her wrath. "

During the rest of her journey Iola preserved a most freezing reservetowards Bastine. At length the journey was ended. Pale and anxious sherode up the avenue which led to her home. 

A strange silence pervaded the place. The servants moved sadly fromplace to place, and spoke in subdued tones. The windows were heavilydraped with crape, and a funeral air pervaded the house. 

Mammy Liza met her at the door, and, with streaming eyes and convulsivesobs, folded her to her heart, as Iola exclaimed, in tones of hopelessanguish:--

"Oh, papa's dead!"

"Oh, my pore baby!" said mammy, "ain't you hearn tell 'bout it? Yorepar's dead, an' your mar's bin drefful sick. She's better now. "

Mam Liza stepped lightly into Mrs. Leroy's room, and gently apprised herof Iola's arrival. In a darkened room lay the stricken mother, almostdistracted by her late bereavement. 

"Oh, Iola, " she exclaimed, as her daughter entered, "is this you? I amso sorry you came. "

Then, burying her head in Iola's bosom, she wept convulsively. "Much asI love you, " she continued, between her sobs, "and much as I longed tosee you, I am sorry you came. "

"Why, mother, " replied Iola, astonished, "I received your telegram lastWednesday, and I took the earliest train I could get. "

"My dear child, I never sent you a telegram. It was a trick to bring youdown South and reduce you to slavery. "

Iola eyed her mother curiously. What did she mean? Had grief dethronedher reason? Yet her eye was clear, her manner perfectly rational. 

Marie saw the astounded look on Iola's face, and nerving herself to thetask, said: "Iola, I must tell you what your father always enjoined meto be silent about. I did not think it was the wisest thing, but Iyielded to his desires. I have negro blood in my veins. I was yourfather's slave before I married him. His relatives have set aside hiswill. The courts have declared our marriage null and void and mymanumission illegal, and we are all to be remanded to slavery. "

An expression of horror and anguish swept over Iola's face, and, turningdeathly pale, she exclaimed, "Oh, mother, it can't be so! you must bedreaming!"

"No, my child; it is a terrible reality. "

Almost wild with agony, Iola paced the floor, as the fearful truth brokein crushing anguish upon her mind. Then bursting into a paroxysm oftears succeeded by peals of hysterical laughter, said:--

"I used to say that slavery is right. I didn't know what I was talkingabout. " Then growing calmer, she said, "Mother, who is at the bottom ofthis downright robbery?"

"Alfred Lorraine; I have always dreaded that man, and what I feared hascome to pass. Your father had faith in him; I never had. "

"But, mother, could we not contest his claim. You have your marriagecertificate and papa's will. "

"Yes, my dear child, but Judge Starkins has decided that we have nostanding in the court, and no testimony according to law. "

"Oh, mother, what can I do?"

"Nothing, my child, unless you can escape to the North. "

"And leave you?"

"Yes. "

"Mother, I will never desert you in your hour of trial. But can nothingbe done? Had father no friends who would assist us?"

"None that I know of. I do not think he had an acquaintance who approvedof our marriage. The neighboring planters have stood so aloof from methat I do not know where to turn for either help or sympathy. I believeit was Lorraine who sent the telegram. I wrote to you as soon as I couldafter your father's death, but fainted just as I finished directing theletter. I do not think he knows where your brother is, and, if possible, he must not know. If you can by any means, _do_ send a letter to Harryand warn him not to attempt to come home. I don't know how you willsucceed, for Lorraine has us all under surveillance. But it is accordingto law. "

"What law, mother?"

"The law of the strong against the weak. "

"Oh, mother, it seems like a dreadful dream, a fearful nightmare! But Icannot shake it off. Where is Gracie?"

"The dear child has been running down ever since her papa's death. Sheclung to me night and day while I had the brain fever, and could not bepersuaded to leave me. She hardly ate anything for more than a week. Shehas been dangerously ill for several days, and the doctor says shecannot live. The fever has exhausted all her rallying power, and yet, dear as she is to me, I would rather consign her to the deepest gravethan see her forced to be a slave. "

"So would I. I wish I could die myself. "

"Oh, Iola, do not talk so. Strive to be a Christian, to have faith inthe darkest hour. Were it not for my hope of heaven I couldn't stand allthis trouble. "

"Mother, are these people Christians who made these laws which arerobbing us of our inheritance and reducing us to slavery? If this isChristianity I hate and despise it. Would the most cruel heathen doworse?"

"My dear child, I have not learned my Christianity from them. I havelearned it at the foot of the cross, and from this book, " she said, placing a New Testament in Iola's hands. "Some of the most beautifullessons of faith and trust I have ever learned were from among our lowlypeople in their humble cabins. "

"Mamma!" called a faint voice from the adjoining room. Marieimmediately arose and went to the bedside of her sick child, where MammyLiza was holding her faithful vigils. The child had just awakened from afitful sleep. 

"I thought, " she said, "that I heard Iola's voice. Has she come?"

"Yes, darling; do you want to see her?"

"Oh, yes, " she said, as a bright smile broke over her dying features. 

Iola passed quickly into the room. Gracie reached out her thin, bloodless hand, clasped Iola's palm in hers, and said: "I am so glad youhave come. Dear Iola, stand by mother. You and Harry are all she has. Itis not hard to die. You and mother and Harry must meet me in heaven. "

Swiftly the tidings went through the house that Gracie was dying. Theservants gathered around her with tearful eyes, as she bade them allgood-bye. When she had finished, and Mammy had lowered the pillow, anunwonted radiance lit up her eye, and an expression of ineffablegladness overspread her face, as she murmured: "It is beautiful, sobeautiful!" Fainter and fainter grew her voice, until, without astruggle or sigh, she passed away beyond the power of oppression andprejudice. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

A REJECTED SUITOR. 

Very unexpected was Dr. Gresham's proposal to Iola. She had heartilyenjoyed his society and highly valued his friendship, but he had neverbeen associated in her mind with either love or marriage. As he held herhand in his a tell-tale flush rose to her cheek, a look of gratefulsurprise beamed from her eye, but it was almost immediately succeeded byan air of inexpressible sadness, a drooping of her eyelids, and anincreasing pallor of her cheek. She withdrew her hand from his, shookher head sadly, and said:--

"No, Doctor; that can never be. I am very grateful to you for yourkindness. I value your friendship, but neither gratitude nor friendshipis love, and I have nothing more than those to give. "

"Not at present, " said Dr. Gresham; "but may I not hope your friendshipwill ripen into love?"

"Doctor, I could not promise. I do not think that I should. There arebarriers between us that I cannot pass. Were you to know them I thinkyou would say the same. "

Just then the ambulance brought in a wounded scout, and Iola foundrelief from the wounds of her own heart in attending to his. 

Dr. Gresham knew the barrier that lay between them. It was one which hislove had surmounted. But he was too noble and generous to take advantageof her loneliness to press his suit. He had lived in a part of thecountry where he had scarcely ever seen a colored person, and around therace their misfortunes had thrown a halo of romance. To him the negrowas a picturesque being, over whose woes he had wept when a child, andwhose wrongs he was ready to redress when a man. But when he saw thelovely girl who had been rescued by the commander of the post from theclutches of slavery, all the manhood and chivalry in his nature arose inher behalf, and he was ready to lay on the altar of her heart his firstgrand and overmastering love. Not discouraged by her refusal, butdetermined to overcome her objections, Dr. Gresham resolved that hewould abide his time. 

Iola was not indifferent to Dr. Gresham. She admired his manliness andrespected his character. He was tall and handsome, a fine specimen ofthe best brain and heart of New England. He had been nurtured undergrand and ennobling influences. His father was a devoted Abolitionist. His mother was kind-hearted, but somewhat exclusive and aristocratic. She would have looked upon his marriage with Iola as a mistake andfeared that such an alliance would hurt the prospects of her daughters. 

During Iola's stay in the North, she had learned enough of the racialfeeling to influence her decision in reference to Dr. Gresham's offer. Iola, like other girls, had had her beautiful day-dreams before she wasrudely awakened by the fate which had dragged her into the depths ofslavery. In the chambers of her imagery were pictures of noble deeds; ofhigh, heroic men, knightly, tender, true, and brave. In Dr. Gresham shesaw the ideal of her soul exemplified. But in her lonely condition, with all its background of terrible sorrow and deep abasement, she hadnever for a moment thought of giving or receiving love from one of thatrace who had been so lately associated in her mind with horror, aversion, and disgust. His kindness to her had been a new experience. His companionship was an unexpected pleasure. She had learned to enjoyhis presence and to miss him when absent, and when she began to questionher heart she found that unconsciously it was entwining around him. 

"Yes, " she said to herself, "I do like him; but I can never marry him. To the man I marry my heart must be as open as the flowers to the sun. Icould not accept his hand and hide from him the secret of my birth; andI could not consent to choose the happiest lot on earth without firstfinding my poor heart-stricken and desolate mother. Perhaps some day Imay have the courage to tell him my sad story, and then make my heartthe sepulchre in which to bury all the love which might have gladdenedand brightened my whole life. "

During the sad and weary months which ensued while the war dragged itsslow length along, Dr. Gresham and Iola often met by the bedsides of thewounded and dying, and sometimes he would drop a few words at which herheart would beat quicker and her cheek flush more vividly. But he was sokind, tender, and respectful, that Iola had no idea he knew her raceaffiliations. She knew from unmistakable signs that Dr. Gresham hadlearned to love her, and that he had power to call forth the warmestaffection of her soul; but she fought with her own heart and repressedits rising love. She felt that it was best for his sake that they shouldnot marry. When she saw the evidences of his increasing love sheregretted that she had not informed him at the first of the barrier thatlay between them; it might have saved him unnecessary suffering. Thinking thus, Iola resolved, at whatever cost of pain it might be toherself, to explain to Dr. Gresham what she meant by the insurmountablebarrier. Iola, after a continuous strain upon her nervous system formonths, began to suffer from general debility and nervous depression. Dr. Gresham saw the increasing pallor on Iola's cheek and the loss ofbuoyancy in her step. One morning, as she turned from the bed of a youngsoldier for whom she had just written a letter to his mother, there wassuch a look of pity and sorrow on her face that Dr. Gresham's wholeheart went out in sympathy for her, and he resolved to break the silencehe had imposed upon himself. 

"Iola, " he said, and there was a depth of passionate tenderness in hisvoice, a volume of unexpressed affection in his face, "you are wrongingyourself. You are sinking beneath burdens too heavy for you to bear. Itseems to me that besides the constant drain upon your sympathies thereis some great sorrow preying upon your life; some burden that ought tobe shared. " He gazed upon her so ardently that each cord of her heartseemed to vibrate, and unbidden tears sprang to her lustrous eyes, asshe said, sadly:--

"Doctor, you are right. "

"Iola, my heart is longing to lift those burdens from your life. Love, like faith, laughs at impossibilities. I can conceive of no barrier toohigh for my love to surmount. Consent to be mine, as nothing else onearth is mine. "

"Doctor, you know not what you ask, " replied Iola. "Instead of cominginto this hospital a self-sacrificing woman, laying her every gift andadvantage upon the altar of her country, I came as a rescued slave, gladto find a refuge from a fate more cruel than death; a fate from which Iwas rescued by the intervention of my dear dead friend, Thomas Anderson. I was born on a lonely plantation on the Mississippi River, where thewhite population was very sparse. We had no neighbors who ever visitedus; no young white girls with whom I ever played in my childhood; but, never having enjoyed such companionship, I was unconscious of any senseof privation. Our parents spared no pains to make the lives of theirchildren (we were three) as bright and pleasant as they could. Our homewas so happy. We had a large number of servants, who were devoted to us. I never had the faintest suspicion that there was any wrongfulness inslavery, and I never dreamed of the dreadful fate which broke in a stormof fearful anguish over our devoted heads. Papa used to take us to NewOrleans to see the Mardi Gras, and while there we visited the theatresand other places of amusement and interest. At home we had books, papers, and magazines to beguile our time. Perfectly ignorant of myracial connection, I was sent to a Northern academy, and soon made manyfriends among my fellow-students. Companionship with girls of my own agewas a new experience, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I spent several yearsin New England, and was busily preparing for my commencement exerciseswhen my father was snatched away--died of yellow fever on his way Northto witness my graduation. Through a stratagem, I was brought hurriedlyfrom the North, and found that my father was dead; that his nearestkinsman had taken possession of our property; that my mother's marriagehad been declared illegal, because of an imperceptible infusion of negroblood in her veins; and that she and her children had been remanded toslavery. I was torn from my mother, sold as a slave, and subjected tocruel indignities, from which I was rescued and a place given to me inthis hospital. Doctor, I did not choose my lot in life, but I have noother alternative than to accept it. The intense horror and agony I feltwhen I was first told the story are over. Thoughts and purposes havecome to me in the shadow I should never have learned in the sunshine. Iam constantly rousing myself up to suffer and be strong. I intend, whenthis conflict is over, to cast my lot with the freed people as a helper, teacher, and friend. I have passed through a fiery ordeal, but thisministry of suffering will not be in vain. I feel that my mind hasmatured beyond my years. I am a wonder to myself. It seems as if yearshad been compressed into a few short months. In telling you this, do younot, can you not, see that there is an insurmountable barrier betweenus?"

"No, I do not, " replied Dr. Gresham. "I love you for your own sake. Andwith this the disadvantages of birth have nothing to do. "

"You say so now, and I believe that you are perfectly sincere. Todayyour friendship springs from compassion, but, when that subsides, mightyou not look on me as an inferior?"

"Iola, you do not understand me. You think too meanly of me. You mustnot judge me by the worst of my race. Surely our country has produced ahigher type of manhood than the men by whom you were tried and tempted. "

"Tried, but not tempted, " said Iola, as a deep flush overspread herface; "I was never tempted. I was sold from State to State as an articleof merchandise. I had outrages heaped on me which might well crimson thecheek of honest womanhood with shame, but I never fell into the clutchesof an owner for whom I did not feel the utmost loathing and intensesthorror. I have heard men talk glibly of the degradation of the negro, but there is a vast difference between abasement of condition anddegradation of character. I was abased, but the men who trampled on mewere the degraded ones. "

"But, Iola, you must not blame all for what a few have done. "

"A few have done? Did not the whole nation consent to our abasement?"asked Iola, bitterly. 

"No, Miss Iola, we did not all consent to it. Slavery drew a line ofcleavage in this country. Although we were under one government we werefarther apart in our sentiments than if we had been divided by loftymountains and separated by wide seas. And had not Northern sentimentbeen brought to bear against the institution, slavery would have beenintact until to-day. "

"But, Doctor, the negro is under a social ban both North and South. Ourenemies have the ear of the world, and they can depict us just as theyplease. "

"That is true; but the negro has no other alternative than to makefriends of his calamities. Other men have plead his cause, but out ofthe race must come its own defenders. With them the pen must bemightier than the sword. It is the weapon of civilization, and they mustuse it in their own defense. We cannot tell what is in them until theyexpress themselves. "

"Yes, and I think there is a large amount of latent and undevelopedability in the race, which they will learn to use for their own benefit. This my hospital experience has taught me. "

"But, " said Dr. Gresham, "they must learn to struggle, labor, andachieve. By facts, not theories, they will be judged in the future. TheAnglo-Saxon race is proud, domineering, aggressive, and impatient of arival, and, as I think, has more capacity for dragging down a weakerrace than uplifting it. They have been a conquering and achievingpeople, marvelous in their triumphs of mind over matter. They havemanifested the traits of character which are developed by success andvictory. "

"And yet, " said Iola, earnestly, "I believe the time will come when thecivilization of the negro will assume a better phase than youAnglo-Saxons possess. You will prove unworthy of your high vantageground if you only use your superior ability to victimize feebler racesand minister to a selfish greed of gold and a love of domination. "

"But, Iola, " said Dr. Gresham, a little impatiently, "what has all thisto do with our marriage? Your complexion is as fair as mine. What is tohinder you from sharing my Northern home, from having my mother to beyour mother?" The tones of his voice grew tender, as he raised his eyesto Iola's face and anxiously awaited her reply. 

"Dr. Gresham, " said Iola, sadly, "should the story of my life berevealed to your family, would they be willing to ignore all thetraditions of my blood, forget all the terrible humiliations throughwhich I have passed? I have too much self-respect to enter your homeunder a veil of concealment. I have lived in New England. I love thesunshine of her homes and the freedom of her institutions. But NewEngland is not free from racial prejudice, and I would never enter afamily where I would be an unwelcome member. "

"Iola, dear, you have nothing to fear in that direction. "

"Doctor, " she said, and a faint flush rose to her cheek, "suppose weshould marry, and little children in after years should nestle in ourarms, and one of them show unmistakable signs of color, would you besatisfied?"

She looked steadfastly into his eyes, which fell beneath hertruth-seeking gaze. His face flushed as if the question had suddenlyperplexed him. Iola saw the irresolution on his face, and framed heranswer accordingly. 

"Ah, I see, " she said, "that you are puzzled. You had not taken intoaccount what might result from such a marriage. I will relieve you fromall embarrassment by simply saying I cannot be your wife. When the waris over I intend to search the country for my mother. Doctor, were youto give me a palace-like home, with velvet carpets to hush my tread, andmagnificence to surround my way, I should miss her voice amid all othertones, her presence amid every scene. Oh, you do not know how hungry myheart is for my mother! Were I to marry you I would carry an achingheart into your home and dim its brightness. I have resolved never tomarry until I have found my mother. The hope of finding her has coloredall my life since I regained my freedom. It has helped sustain me in thehour of fearful trial. When I see her I want to have the proudconsciousness that I bring her back a heart just as loving, faithful, and devoted as the last hour we parted. "

"And is this your final answer?"

"It is. I have pledged my life to that resolve, and I believe time andpatience will reward me. "

There was a deep shadow of sorrow and disappointment on the face of Dr. Gresham as he rose to leave. For a moment he held her hand as it laylimp in his own. If she wavered in her determination it was only for amoment. No quivering of her lip or paling of her cheek betrayed anystruggle of her heart. Her resolve was made, and his words werepowerless to swerve her from the purpose of her soul. 

After Dr. Gresham had gone Iola went to her room and sat buried inthought. It seemed as if the fate of Tantalus was hers, without hiscrimes. Here she was lonely and heart-stricken, and unto her waspresented the offer of love, home, happiness, and social position; theheart and hand of a man too noble and generous to refuse hercompanionship for life on account of the blood in her veins. Why shouldshe refuse these desirable boons? But, mingling with these beautifulvisions of manly love and protecting care she saw the anguish of herheart-stricken mother and the pale, sweet face of her dying sister, aswith her latest breath she had said, "Iola, stand by mamma!"

"No, no, " she said to herself; "I was right to refuse Dr. Gresham. Howdare I dream of happiness when my poor mamma's heart may be slowlybreaking? I should be ashamed to live and ashamed to die were I tochoose a happy lot for myself and leave poor mamma to struggle alone. Iwill never be satisfied till I get tidings of her. And when I have foundher I will do all I can to cheer and brighten the remnant of her life. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

HARRY LEROY. 

It was several weeks after Iola had written to her brother that herletter reached him. The trusty servant to whom she delivered it watchedhis opportunity to mail it. At last he succeeded in slipping it intoLorraine's mail and dropping them all into the post office together. Harry was studying at a boys' academy in Maine. His father had giventhat State the preference because, while on a visit there, he had beenfavorably impressed with the kindness and hospitality of the people. Hehad sent his son a large sum of money, and given him permission to spendawhile with some school-chums till he was ready to bring the familyNorth, where they could all spend the summer together. Harry hadreturned from his visit, and was looking for letters and remittancesfrom home, when a letter, all crumpled, was handed him by the principalof the academy. He recognized his sister's handwriting and eagerlyopened the letter. As he read, he turned very pale; then a deep flushoverspread his face and an angry light flashed from his eyes. As he readon, his face became still paler; he gasped for breath and fell into aswoon. Appalled at the sudden change which had swept over him like adeadly sirocco, the principal rushed to the fallen boy, picked up themissive that lay beside him, and immediately rang for help anddispatched for the doctor. The doctor came at once and was greatlypuzzled. Less than an hour before, he had seen him with a crowd ofmerry, laughter-loving boys, apparently as light-hearted and joyous asany of them; now he lay with features drawn and pinched, his face deadlypale, as if some terrible suffering had sent all the blood in his veinsto stagnate around his heart. Harry opened his eyes, shuddered, andrelapsed into silence. The doctor, all at sea in regard to the cause ofthe sudden attack, did all that he could to restore him to consciousnessand quiet the perturbation of his spirit. He succeeded, but found he wasstrangely silent. A terrible shock had sent a tremor through everynerve, and the doctor watched with painful apprehension its effect uponhis reason. Giving him an opiate and enjoining that he should be keptperfectly quiet, the doctor left the room, sought the principal, andsaid:--

"Mr. Bascom, here is a case that baffles my skill. I saw that boy passby my window not more than half an hour ago, full of animation, and nowhe lies hovering between life and death. I have great apprehension forhis reason. Can you throw any light on the subject?"

Mr. Bascom hesitated. 

"I am not asking you as a matter of idle curiosity, but as a physician. I must have all the light I can get in making my diagnosis of the case. "

The principal arose, went to his desk, took out the letter which he hadpicked up from the floor, and laid it in the physician's hand. As thedoctor read, a look of indignant horror swept over his face. Then hesaid: "Can it be possible! I never suspected such a thing. It must be acruel, senseless hoax. "

"Doctor, " said Mr. Bascom, "I have been a life-long Abolitionist andhave often read of the cruelties and crimes of American slavery, butnever before did I realize the low moral tone of the social life underwhich such shameless cruelties could be practiced on a defenseless widowand her orphaned children. Let me read the letter again. Just look atit, all tear-blotted and written with a trembling hand:--

 'DEAR BROTHER:--I have dreadful news for you and I hardly know how to tell it. Papa and Gracie are both dead. He died of yellow fever. Mamma is almost distracted. Papa's cousin has taken possession of our property, and instead of heirs we are chattels. Mamma has explained the whole situation to me. She was papa's slave before she married. He loved her, manumitted, educated, and married her. When he died Mr. Lorraine entered suit for his property and Judge Starkins has decided in his favor. The decree of the court has made their marriage invalid, robbed us of our inheritance, and remanded us all to slavery. Mamma is too wretched to attempt to write herself, but told me to entreat you not to attempt to come home. You can do us no good, and that mean, cruel Lorraine may do you much harm. Don't attempt, I beseech you, to come home. Show this letter to Mr. Bascom and let him advise you what to do. But don't, for our sake, attempt to come home. 

 'Your heart-broken sister, 'IOLA LEROY. '"

"This, " said the doctor, "is a very awkward affair. The boy is too illto be removed. It is doubtful if the nerves which have trembled withsuch fearful excitement will ever recover their normal condition. It issimply a work of mercy to watch over him with the tenderest care. "

Fortunately for Harry he had fallen into good hands, and the most tendercare and nursing were bestowed upon him. For awhile Harry was strangelysilent, never referring to the terrible misfortune which had so suddenlyovershadowed his life. It seemed as if the past were suddenly blottedout of his memory. But he was young and of an excellent constitution, and in a few months he was slowly recovering. 

"Doctor, " said he one day, as the physician sat at his bedside, "I seemto have had a dreadful dream, and to have dreamt that my father wasdead, and my mother and sister were in terrible trouble, but I could nothelp them. Doctor, was it a dream, or was it a reality? It could nothave been a dream, for when I fell asleep the grass was green and thebirds were singing, but now the winds are howling and the frost is onthe ground. Doctor, tell me how it is? How long have I been here?"

Sitting by his bedside, and taking his emaciated hand in his, the doctorsaid, in a kind, fatherly tone: "My dear boy, you have been very ill, and everything depends on your keeping quiet, very quiet. "

As soon as he was strong enough the principal gave him his letter toread. 

"But, Mr. Bascom, " Harry said, "I do not understand this. It says mymother and father were legally married. How could her marriage be setaside and her children robbed of their inheritance? This is not aheathen country. I hardly think barbarians would have done any worse;yet this is called a Christian country. "

"Christian in name, " answered the principal. "When your father left youin my care, knowing that I was an Abolitionist, he confided his secretto me. He said that life was full of vicissitudes, and he wished you tohave a good education. He wanted you and your sister to be prepared forany emergency. He did not wish you to know that you had negro blood inyour veins. He knew that the spirit of caste pervaded the nation, Northand South, and he was very anxious to have his children freed from itsdepressing influences. He did not intend to stay South after you hadfinished your education. "

"But, " said Harry, "I cannot understand. If my mother was lawfullymarried, how could they deprive her of her marital rights?"

"When Lorraine, " continued Mr. Bascom, "knew your father was dead, allhe had to do was to find a flaw in her manumission, and, of course, themarriage became illegal. She could not then inherit property normaintain her freedom; and her children followed her condition. "

Harry listened attentively. Things which had puzzled him once now becameperfectly clear. He sighed heavily, and, turning to the principal, said:"I see things in a new light. Now I remember that none of the planters'wives ever visited my mother; and we never went to church except when myfather took us to the Cathedral in New Orleans. My father was aCatholic, but I don't think mamma is. "

"Now, Harry, " said the principal, "life is before you. If you wish tostay North, I will interest friends in your behalf, and try to get you asituation. Going South is out of the question. It is probable that bythis time your mother and sister are removed from their home. You arepowerless to fight against the law that enslaved them. Should you fallinto the clutches of Lorraine, he might give you a great deal oftrouble. You would be pressed into the Confederate service to help themthrow up barricades, dig trenches, and add to the strength of those whoenslaved your mother and sister. "

"Never! never!" cried Harry. "I would rather die than do it! I shoulddespise myself forever if I did. "

"Numbers of our young men, " said Mr. Bascom, "have gone to the war whichis now raging between North and South. You have been sick for severalmonths, and much has taken place of which you are unaware. Would youlike to enlist?"

"I certainly would; not so much for the sake of fighting for theGovernment, as with the hope of finding my mother and sister, andavenging their wrongs. I should like to meet Lorraine on thebattle-field. "

"What kind of a regiment would you prefer, white or colored?"

Harry winced when the question was asked. He felt the reality of hissituation as he had not done before. It was as if two paths had suddenlyopened before him, and he was forced to choose between them. On one sidewere strength, courage, enterprise, power of achievement, and memoriesof a wonderful past. On the other side were weakness, ignorance, poverty, and the proud world's social scorn. He knew nothing of coloredpeople except as slaves, and his whole soul shrank from equalizinghimself with them. He was fair enough to pass unchallenged among thefairest in the land, and yet a Christless prejudice had decreed that heshould be a social pariah. He sat, thoughtful and undecided, as if agreat struggle were going on in his mind. Finally the principal said, "Ido not think that you should be assigned to a colored regiment becauseof the blood in your veins, but you will have, in such a regiment, better facilities for finding your mother and sister. "

"You are right, Mr. Bascom. To find my mother and sister I call no tasktoo heavy, no sacrifice too great. "

Since Harry had come North he had learned to feel profound pity for theslave. But there is a difference between looking on a man as an objectof pity and protecting him as such, and being identified with him andforced to share his lot. To take his place with them on the arena oflife was the test of his life, but love was stronger than pride. 

His father was dead. His mother and sister were enslaved by a mockery ofjustice. It was more than a matter of choice where he should stand onthe racial question. He felt that he must stand where he could strikethe most effective blow for their freedom. With that thought strong inhis mind, and as soon as he recovered, he went westward to find acolored regiment. He told the recruiting officer that he wished to beassigned to a colored regiment. 

"Why do you wish that, " said the officer, looking at Harry with an airof astonishment. 

"Because I am a colored man. "

The officer look puzzled. It was a new experience. He had seen coloredmen with fair complexions anxious to lose their identity with thecolored race and pose as white men, but here was a man in the flush ofhis early manhood, to whom could come dreams of promotion from a simpleprivate to a successful general, deliberately turning his back uponevery gilded hope and dazzling opportunity, to cast his lot with thedespised and hated negro. 

"I do not understand you, " said the officer. "Surely you are a whiteman, and, as such, I will enlist you in a white regiment. "

"No, " said Harry, firmly, "I am a colored man, and unless I can beassigned to a colored regiment I am not willing to enter the army. "

"Well, " said the officer, "you are the d----d'st fool I ever saw--a manas white as you are turning his back upon his chances of promotion! Butyou can take your choice. "

So Harry was permitted to enter the army. By his promptness and valor hesoon won the hearts of his superior officers, and was made drillsergeant. Having nearly all of his life been used to colored people, andbeing taught by his mother to be kind and respectful to them, he wassoon able to gain their esteem. He continued in the regiment until Grantbegan the task of opening the Mississippi. After weeks of fruitlesseffort, Grant marched his army down the west side of the river, whilethe gunboats undertook the perilous task of running the batteries. Menwere found for the hour. The volunteers offered themselves in suchnumbers that lots were cast to determine who should have the opportunityto enlist in an enterprise so fraught with danger. Harry was one on whomthe lot fell. 

Grant crossed the river below, coiled his forces around Vicksburg likea boa-constrictor, and held it in his grasp. After forty-seven days ofendurance the city surrendered to him. Port Hudson, after the surrenderof Vicksburg, gave up the unequal contest, and the Mississippi was opento the Gulf. 

CHAPTER XV. 

ROBERT AND HIS COMPANY. 

"Good morning, gentlemen, " said Robert Johnson, as he approached ColonelRobinson, the commander of the post, who was standing at the door of histent, talking with Captain Sybil. 

"Good morning, " responded Colonel Robinson, "I am glad you have come. Iwas just about to send for you. How is your company getting on?"

"First rate, sir, " replied Robert. 

"In good health?"

"Excellent. They are all in good health and spirits. Our boys are usedto hardship and exposure, and the hope of getting their freedom puts newsnap into them. "

"I am glad of it, " said Colonel Robinson. "They make good fighters andvery useful allies. Last night we received very valuable intelligencefrom some fugitives who had escaped through the Rebel lines. I do notthink many of the Northern people realize the service they have been tous in bringing information and helping our boys when escaping from Rebelprisons. I never knew a full-blooded negro to betray us. A month ago, when we were encamped near the Rebel lines, a colored woman managedadmirably to keep us posted as to the intended movements of the enemy. She was engaged in laundry work, and by means of hanging her sheets indifferent ways gave us the right signals. "

"I hope, " said Captain Sybil, "that the time will come when somefaithful historian will chronicle all the deeds of daring and-servicethese people have performed during this struggle, and give them duecredit therefor. "

"Our great mistake, " said Colonel Robinson, "was our long delay ingranting them their freedom, and even what we have done is only partial. The border States still retain their slaves. We ought to have made aclean sweep of the whole affair. Slavery is a serpent which we nourishedin its weakness, and now it is stinging us in its strength. "

"I think so, too, " said Captain Sybil. "But in making his proclamationof freedom, perhaps Mr. Lincoln went as far as he thought public opinionwould let him. "

"It is remarkable, " said Colonel Robinson, "how these Secesh hold out. It surprises me to see how poor white men, who, like the negroes, arevictims of slavery, rally around the Stripes and Bars. These men, Ibelieve, have been looked down on by the aristocratic slaveholders, anddespised by the well-fed and comfortable slaves, yet they follow theirleaders into the very jaws of death; face hunger, cold, disease, anddanger; and all for what? What, under heaven, are they fighting for?Now, the negro, ignorant as he is, has learned to regard our flag as abanner of freedom, and to look forward to his deliverance as aconsequence of the overthrow of the Rebellion. "

"I think, " said Captain Sybil "that these ignorant white men have beenawfully deceived. They have had presented to their imaginations utterlyfalse ideas of the results of Secession, and have been taught that itssuccess would bring them advantages which they had never enjoyed in theUnion. "

"And I think, " said Colonel Robinson, "that the women and ministers havelargely fed and fanned the fires of this Rebellion, and have helped tocreate a public opinion which has swept numbers of benighted men intothe conflict. Well might one of their own men say, 'This is a rich man'swar and a poor man's fight. ' They were led into it through theirignorance, and held in it by their fears. "

"I think, " said Captain Sybil, "that if the public school had beencommon through the South this war would never have occurred. Now thingshave reached such a pass that able-bodied men must report atheadquarters, or be treated as deserters. Their leaders are desperatemen, of whom it has been said: 'They have robbed the cradle and thegrave. '"

"They are fighting against fearful odds, " said Colonel Robinson, "andtheir defeat is only a question of time. "

"As soon, " said Robert, "as they fired on Fort Sumter, Uncle Daniel, adear old father who had been praying and hoping for freedom, said to me:'Dey's fired on Fort Sumter, an' mark my words, Bob, de Norf's boun'ter whip. '"

"Had we freed the slaves at the outset, " said Captain Sybil, "wewouldn't have given the Rebels so much opportunity to strengthenthemselves by means of slave labor in raising their crops, throwing uptheir entrenchments, and building their fortifications. Slavery was adeadly cancer eating into the life of the nation; but, somehow, it hadcast such a glamour over us that we have acted somewhat as if ournational safety were better preserved by sparing the cancer than bycutting it out. "

"Political and racial questions have sadly complicated this matter, "said Colonel Robinson. "The North is not wholly made up of anti-slaverypeople. At the beginning of this war we were not permeated with justice, and so were not ripe for victory. The battle of Bull Run inaugurated thewar by a failure. Instead of glory we gathered shame, and defeat inplace of victory. "

"We have been slow, " said Captain Sybil, "to see our danger and to doour duty. Our delay has cost us thousands of lives and millions ofdollars. Yet it may be it is all for the best. Our national wound wastoo deep to be lightly healed. When the President issued hisEmancipation Proclamation my heart overflowed with joy, and I said:'This is the first bright rift in the war cloud. '"

"And did you really think that they would accept the terms of freedomand lay down their arms?" asked Robert. 

"I hardly thought they would, " continued Captain Sybil. "I did not thinkthat their leaders would permit it. I believe the rank and file of theirarmy are largely composed of a mass of ignorance, led, manipulated, andmoulded by educated and ambitious wickedness. In attempting to overthrowthe Union, a despotism and reign of terror were created whichencompassed them as fetters of iron, and they will not accept theconditions until they have reached the last extremity. I hardly thinkthey are yet willing to confess that such extremity has been reached. "

"Captain, " said Robert, as they left Colonel Robinson's tent, "I havelived all my life where I have had a chance to hear the 'Secesh' talk, and when they left their papers around I used to read everything I couldlay my hands on. It seemed to me that the big white men not only ruledover the poor whites and made laws for them, but over the whole nation. "

"That was so, " replied Captain Sybil. "The North was strong butforbearing. It was busy in trade and commerce, and permitted them tomake the Northern States hunting-grounds for their slaves. When we sentback Simms and Burns from beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill Monument andFaneuil Hall, they mistook us; looked upon us as a lot ofmoney-grabbers, who would be willing to purchase peace at any price. Ido not believe when they fired on the 'Star of the West' that they hadthe least apprehension of the fearful results which were to follow theirmadness and folly. "

"Well, Captain, " asked Robert, "if the free North would submit to becalled on to help them catch their slaves, what could be expected of us, who all our lives had known no other condition than that of slavery? Howmuch braver would you have been, if your first recollections had beenthose of seeing your mother maltreated, your father cruelly beaten, oryour fellow-servants brutally murdered? I wonder why they never enslavedthe Indians!"

"You are mistaken, Robert, if you think the Indians were never enslaved. I have read that the Spaniards who visited the coasts of Americakidnapped thousands of Indians, whom they sent to Europe and the WestIndies as slaves. Columbus himself, we are informed, captured fivehundred natives, and sent them to Spain. The Indian had the lesser powerof endurance, and Las Cassas suggested the enslavement of the negro, because he seemed to possess greater breadth of physical organizationand stronger power of endurance. Slavery was an old world's crime which, I have heard, the Indians never practiced among themselves. Perhaps itwould have been harder to reduce them to slavery and hold them inbondage when they had a vast continent before them, where they couldhide in the vastnesses of its mountains or the seclusion of its forests, than it was for white men to visit the coasts of Africa and, with theirsuperior knowledge, obtain cargoes of slaves, bring them across theocean, hem them in on the plantations, and surround them with a pall ofdense ignorance. "

"I remember, " said Robert, "in reading a history I once came across atour house, that when the Africans first came to this country they didnot all speak one language. Some had only met as mutual enemies. Theywere not all one color, their complexions ranging from tawny yellow todeep black. "

"Yes, " said Captain Sybil, "and in dealing with the negro we wanted hislabor; in dealing with the Indian we wanted his lands. For one we hadweapons of war; for the other we had real and invisible chains, thecoercion of force, and the terror of the unseen world. "

"That's exactly so, Captain! When I was a boy I used to hear the oldfolks tell what would happen to bad people in another world; about thedevil pouring hot lead down people's throats and stirring them up with apitch-fork; and I used to get so scared that I would be afraid to go tobed at night. I don't suppose the Indians ever heard of such things, or, if they had, I never heard of them being willing to give away alltheir lands on earth, and quietly wait for a home in heaven. "

"But, surely, Robert, you do not think religion has degraded the negro?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that. But a man is in a tight fix when he takes hispart, like Nat Turner or Denmark Veasy, and is made to fear that he willbe hanged in this world and be burned in the next. And, since I come tothink of it, we colored folks used to get mightily mixed up about ourreligion. Mr. Gundover had on his plantation a real smart man. He wasreligious, but he would steal. "

"Oh, Robert, " queried Sybil, "how could he be religious and steal?"

"He didn't think, " retorted Robert, "it was any harm to steal from hismaster. I guess he thought it was right to get from his master all hecould. He would have thought it wrong to steal from his fellow-servants. He thought that downright mean, but I wouldn't have insured the lives ofGundover's pigs and chickens, if Uncle Jack got them in a tight place. One day there was a minister stopping with Mr. Gundover. As a matter ofcourse, in speaking of his servants, he gave Jack's sins an airing. Hewould much rather confess Jack's sins than his own. Now Gundover wantedto do two things, save his pigs and poultry, and save Jack's soul. Hetold the minister that Jack was a liar and a thief, and gave theminister a chance to talk with Uncle Jack about the state of his soul. Uncle Jack listened very quietly, and when taxed with stealing hismaster's wheat he was ready with an answer. 'Now Massa Parker, ' saidJack, 'lem'me tell yer jis' how it war 'bout dat wheat. Wen ole Jackcom'd down yere, dis place war all growed up in woods. He go ter work, clared up de groun' an' plowed, an' planted, an' riz a crap, an' den wenit war all done, he hadn't a dollar to buy his ole woman a gown; an' hejis' took a bag ob wheat. '"

"What did Mr. Parker say?" asked Sybil. 

"I don't know, though I reckon he didn't think it was a bad steal afterall, but I don't suppose he told Jack so. When he came to the nextpoint, about Jack's lying, I suppose he thought he had a clear case; butJack was equal to the occasion. "

"How did he clear up that charge?" interrogated Captain Sybil. 

"Finely. I think if he had been educated he would have made a first-ratelawyer. He said, 'Marse Parker, dere's old Joe. His wife don't lib ondis plantation. Old Joe go ober ter see her, but he stayed too long, an'didn't git back in time fer his work. Massa's oberseer kotched him an'cut him all up. When de oberseer went inter de house, pore old Joe warall tired an' beat up, an' so he lay down by de fence corner and go tersleep. Bimeby Massa oberseer com'd an' axed, "all bin a workin' libely?"I say "Yes, Massa. "' Then said Mr. Parker, 'You were lying, Joe had beensleeping, not working. ' 'I know's dat, but ef I tole on Joe, Massaoberseer cut him all up again, and Massa Jesus says, "Blessed am dePeacemaker. "' I heard, continued Robert, that Mr. Parker said toGundover, 'You seem to me like a man standing in a stream where theblood of Jesus can reach you, but you are standing between it and yourslaves. How will you answer that in the Day of Judgment?'"

"What did Gundover say?" asked Captain Sybil. 

"He turned pale, and said, 'For God's sake don't speak of the Day ofJudgment in connection with slavery. '"

Just then a messenger brought a communication to Captain Sybil. He readit attentively, and, turning to Robert, said, "Here are orders for anengagement at Five Forks to-morrow. Oh, this wasting of life andscattering of treasure might have been saved had we only been wiser. Butthe time is passing. Look after your company, and see that everything isin readiness as soon as possible. "

Carefully Robert superintended the arrangements for the coming battle ofa strife which for years had thrown its crimson shadows over the land. The Rebels fought with a valor worthy of a better cause. The disaster ofBull Run had been retrieved. Sherman had made his famous march to thesea. Fighting Joe Hooker had scaled the stronghold of the storm king andwon a victory in the palace chamber of the clouds; the Union soldiershad captured Columbia, replanted the Stars and Stripes in Charleston, and changed that old sepulchre of slavery into the cradle of a new-bornfreedom. Farragut had been as triumphant on water as the other generalshad been victorious on land, and New Orleans had been wrenched from thehands of the Confederacy. The Rebel leaders were obstinate. Misguidedhordes had followed them to defeat and death. Grant was firm anddetermined to fight it out if it took all summer. The closing battleswere fought with desperate courage and firm resistance, but at last theSouth was forced to succumb. On the ninth day of April, 1865, GeneralLee surrendered to General Grant. The lost cause went down in blood andtears, and on the brows of a ransomed people God poured the chrism of anew era, and they stood a race newly anointed with freedom. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

AFTER THE BATTLE. 

Very sad and heart-rending were the scenes with which Iola came inconstant contact. Well may Christian men and women labor and pray forthe time when nations shall learn war no more; when, instead of bloodyconflicts, there shall be peaceful arbitration. The battle in whichRobert fought, after his last conversation with Captain Sybil, was oneof the decisive struggles of the closing conflict. The mills of doom andfate had ground out a fearful grist of agony and death, "And lives of men and souls of States Were thrown like chaff beyond the gates. "

Numbers were taken prisoners. Pale, young corpses strewed the earth;manhood was stricken down in the flush of its energy and prime. Theambulances brought in the wounded and dying. Captain Sybil laid down hislife on the altar of freedom. His prediction was fulfilled. Robert wasbrought into the hospital, wounded, but not dangerously. Iola rememberedhim as being the friend of Tom Anderson, and her heart was drawninstinctively towards him. For awhile he was delirious, but her presencehad a soothing effect upon him. He sometimes imagined that she was hismother, and he would tell her how he had missed her; and then at timeshe would call her sister. Iola, tender and compassionate, humored hisfancies, and would sing to him in low, sweet tones some of the hymnsshe had learned in her old home in Mississippi. One day she sang a fewverses of the hymn beginning with the words--

 "Drooping souls no longer grieve, Heaven is propitious; If on Christ you do believe, You will find Him precious. "

"That, " said he, looking earnestly into Iola's face, "was my mother'shymn. I have not heard it for years. Where did you learn it?"

Iola gazed inquiringly upon the face of her patient, and saw, by hisclear gaze and the expression of his face, that his reason had returned. 

"In my home, in Mississippi, from my own dear mother, " was Iola's reply. 

"Do you know where she learned it?" asked Robert. 

"When she was a little girl she heard her mother sing it. Years after, aMethodist preacher came to our house, sang this hymn, and left the bookbehind him. My father was a Catholic, but my mother never went to anychurch. I did not understand it then, but I do now. We used to singtogether, and read the Bible when we were alone. "

"Do you remember where she came from, and who was her mother?" askedRobert, anxiously. 

"My dear friend, you must be quiet. The fever has left you, but I willnot answer for the consequences if you get excited. "

Robert lay quiet and thoughtful for awhile and, seeing he was wakeful, Iola said, "Have you any friends to whom you would like to send aletter?"

A pathetic expression flitted over his face, as he sadly replied, "Ihaven't, to my knowledge, a single relation in the world. When I wasabout ten years old my mother and sister were sold from me. It is morethan twenty years since I have heard from them. But that hymn which youwere singing reminded me so much of my mother! She used to sing it whenI was a child. Please sing it again. "

Iola's voice rose soft and clear by his bedside, till he fell into aquiet slumber. She remembered that her mother had spoken of her brotherbefore they had parted, and her interest and curiosity were awakened byRobert's story. While he slept, she closely scrutinized Robert'sfeatures, and detected a striking resemblance between him and hermother. 

"Oh, I _do_ wonder if he can be my mother's brother, from whom she hasbeen separated so many years!"

Anxious as she was to ascertain if there was any relationship betweenRobert and her mother, she forebore to question him on the subject whichlay so near her heart. But one day, when he was so far recovered as tobe able to walk around, he met Iola on the hospital grounds, and said toher:--

"Miss Iola, you remind me so much of my mother and sister that I cannothelp wondering if you are the daughter of my long-lost sister. "

"Do you think, " asked Iola, "if you saw the likeness of your sister youwould recognize her?"

"I am afraid not. But there is one thing I can remember about her: sheused to have a mole on her cheek, which mother used to tell her was herbeauty spot. "

"Look at this, " said Iola, handing him a locket which contained hermother's picture. 

Robert grasped the locket eagerly, scanned the features attentively, then, handing it back, said: "I have only a faint remembrance of mysister's features; but I never could recognize in that beautiful womanthe dear little sister with whom I used to play. Oh, the cruelty ofslavery! How it wrenched and tore us apart! Where is _your_ mother now?"

"Oh, I cannot tell, " answered Iola. "I left her in Mississippi. Myfather was a wealthy Creole planter, who fell in love with my mother. She was his slave, but he educated her in the North, freed, and marriedher. My father was very careful to have the fact of our negro bloodconcealed from us. I had not the slightest suspicion of it. When he wasdead the secret was revealed. His white relations set aside my father'swill, had his marriage declared invalid, and my mother and her childrenwere remanded to slavery. " Iola shuddered as she pronounced the horridword, and grew deadly pale; but, regaining her self-possession, continued: "Now, that freedom has come, I intend to search for my motheruntil I find her. "

"I do not wonder, " said Robert, "that we had this war. The nation hadsinned enough to suffer. "

"Yes, " said Iola, "if national sins bring down national judgments, thenthe nation is only reaping what it sowed. "

"What are your plans for the future, or have you any?" asked Robert. 

"I intend offering myself as a teacher in one of the schools which arebeing opened in different parts of the country, " replied Iola. "As soonas I am able I will begin my search for my dear mother. I will advertisefor her in the papers, hunt for her in the churches, and use all themeans in my power to get some tidings of her and my brother Harry. Whata cruel thing it was to separate us!"

CHAPTER XVII. 

FLAMES IN THE SCHOOL-ROOM. 

"Good morning, " said Dr. Gresham, approaching Robert and Iola. "How areyou both? You have mended rapidly, " turning to Robert, "but then it wasonly a flesh wound. Your general health being good, and your blood inexcellent condition, it was not hard for you to rally. "

"Where have you been, Doctor? I have a faint recollection of having seenyou on the morning I was brought in from the field, but not since. "

"I have been on a furlough. I was running down through exhaustion andoverwork, and I was compelled to go home for a few weeks' rest. But now, as they are about to close the hospital, I shall be permanentlyrelieved. I am glad that this cruel strife is over. It seemed as if Ihad lived through ages during these last few years. In the early part ofthe war I lost my arm by a stray shot, and my armless sleeve is one ofthe mementos of battle I shall carry with me through life. Miss Leroy, "he continued, turning respectfully to Iola, "would you permit me to askyou, as I would have someone ask my sister under the same circumstances, if you have matured any plans for the future, or if I can be of theleast service to you? If so, I would be pleased to render you anyservice in my power. "

"My purpose, " replied Iola, "is to hunt for my mother, and to find herif she is alive. I am willing to go anywhere and do anything to findher. But I will need a standpoint from whence I can send out lines ofinquiry. It must take time, in the disordered state of affairs, even toget a clue by which I may discover her whereabouts. "

"How would you like to teach?" asked the Doctor. "Schools are beingopened all around us. Numbers of excellent and superior women are comingfrom the North to engage as teachers of the freed people. Would you bewilling to take a school among these people? I think it will be uphillwork. I believe it will take generations to get over the duncery ofslavery. Some of these poor fellows who came into our camp did not knowtheir right hands from their left, nor their ages, nor even the days ofthe month. It took me some time, in a number of cases, to understandtheir language. It saddened my heart to see such ignorance. One day Iasked one a question, and he answered, "I no shum'. "

"What did he mean?" asked Iola. 

"That he did not see it, " replied the doctor. "Of course, this does notapply to all of them. Some of them are wide-awake and sharp as steeltraps. I think some of that class may be used in helping others. "

"I should be very glad to have an opportunity to teach, " said Iola. "Iused to be a great favorite among the colored children on my father'splantation. "

In a few days after this conversation the hospital was closed. The sickand convalescent were removed, and Iola obtained a position as ateacher. Very soon Iola realized that while she was heartily appreciatedby the freedmen, she was an object of suspicion and dislike to theirformer owners. The North had conquered by the supremacy of the sword, and the South had bowed to the inevitable. But here was a new army thathad come with an invasion of ideas, that had come to supplant ignorancewith knowledge, and it was natural that its members should be unwelcometo those who had made it a crime to teach their slaves to read the nameof the ever blessed Christ. But Iola had found her work, and the freedmen their friend. 

When Iola opened her school she took pains to get acquainted with theparents of the children, and she gained their confidence andco-operation. Her face was a passport to their hearts. Ignorant ofbooks, human faces were the scrolls from which they had been reading forages. They had been the sunshine and shadow of their lives. 

Iola had found a school-room in the basement of a colored church, wherethe doors were willingly opened to her. Her pupils came from milesaround, ready and anxious to get some "book larnin'. " Some of the oldfolks were eager to learn, and it was touching to see the eyes which hadgrown dim under the shadows of slavery, donning spectacles and trying tomake out the words. As Iola had nearly all of her life been accustomedto colored children she had no physical repulsions to overcome, noprejudices to conquer in dealing with parents and children. In theirsimple childish fashion they would bring her fruits and flowers, andgladden her lonely heart with little tokens of affection. 

One day a gentleman came to the school and wished to address thechildren. Iola suspended the regular order of the school, and thegentleman essayed to talk to them on the achievements of the white race, such as building steamboats and carrying on business. Finally, he askedhow they did it?

"They've got money, " chorused the children. 

"But how did they get it?"

"They took it from us, " chimed the youngsters. Iola smiled, and thegentleman was nonplussed; but he could not deny that one of the powersof knowledge is the power of the strong to oppress the weak. 

The school was soon overcrowded with applicants, and Iola was forced torefuse numbers, because their quarters were too cramped. The school wasbeginning to lift up the home, for Iola was not satisfied to teach herchildren only the rudiments of knowledge. She had tried to lay thefoundation of good character. But the elements of evil burst upon herloved and cherished work. One night the heavens were lighted with luridflames, and Iola beheld the school, the pride and joy of her pupils andtheir parents, a smouldering ruin. Iola gazed with sorrowful dismay onwhat seemed the cruel work of an incendiary's torch. While she sat, mournfully contemplating the work of destruction, her children formed aprocession, and, passing by the wreck of their school, sang:--

 "Oh, do not be discouraged, For Jesus is your friend. "

As they sang, the tears sprang to Iola's eyes, and she said to herself, "I am not despondent of the future of my people; there is too muchelasticity in their spirits, too much hope in their hearts, to becrushed out by unreasoning malice. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

SEARCHING FOR LOST ONES. 

To bind anew the ties which slavery had broken and gather together theremnants of his scattered family became the earnest purpose of Robert'slife. Iola, hopeful that in Robert she had found her mother's brother, was glad to know she was not alone in _her_ search. Having sent outlines of inquiry in different directions, she was led to hope, from someof the replies she had received, that her mother was living somewhere inGeorgia. 

Hearing that a Methodist conference was to convene in that State, andbeing acquainted with the bishop of that district, she made arrangementsto accompany him thither. She hoped to gather some tidings of her motherthrough the ministers gathered from different parts of that State. 

From her brother she had heard nothing since her father's death. On hisway to the conference, the bishop had an engagement to dedicate achurch, near the city of C----, in North Carolina. Iola was quitewilling to stop there a few days, hoping to hear something of RobertJohnson's mother. Soon after she had seated herself in the cars she wasapproached by a gentleman, who reached out his hand to her, and greetedher with great cordiality. Iola looked up, and recognized himimmediately as one of her last patients at the hospital. It was noneother than Robert Johnson. 

"I am so glad to meet you, " he said. "I am on my way to C---- in searchof my mother. I want to see the person who sold her last, and, ifpossible, get some clew to the direction in which she went. "

"And I, " said Iola, "am in search of _my_ mother. I am convinced thatwhen we find those for whom we are searching they will prove to be verynearly related. Mamma said, before we were parted, that her brother hada red spot on his temple. If I could see that spot I should rest assuredthat my mother is your sister. "

"Then, " said Robert, "I can give you that assurance, " and smilingly helifted his hair from his temple, on which was a large, red spot. 

"I am satisfied, " exclaimed Iola, fixing her eyes, beaming with hope andconfidence, on Robert. "Oh, I am so glad that I can, without the leasthesitation, accept your services to join with me in the further search. What are your plans?"

"To stop for awhile in C----, " said Robert, "and gather all theinformation possible from those who sold and bought my mother. I intendto leave no stone un-turned in searching for her. "

"Oh, I _do_ hope that you will succeed. I expect to stop over there afew days, and I shall be so glad if, before I leave, I hear your searchhas been crowned with success, or, a least, that you have been put onthe right track. Although I was born and raised in the midst ofslavery, I had not the least idea of its barbarous selfishness till Iwas forced to pass through it. But we lived so much alone I had noopportunity to study it, except on our own plantation. My father andmother were very kind to their slaves. But it was slavery, all the same, and I hate it, root and branch. "

Just then the conductor called out the station. 

"We stop here, " said Robert. "I am going to see Mrs. Johnson, and huntup some of my old acquaintances. Where do you stop?"

"I don't know, " replied Iola. "I expect that friends will be here tomeet us. Bishop B----, permit me to introduce you to Mr. Robert Johnson, whom I have every reason to believe is my mother's brother. Like myself, he is engaged in hunting up his lost relatives. "

"And I, " said Robert, "am very much pleased to know that we are notwithout favorable clues. "

"Bishop, " said Iola, "Mr. Johnson wishes to know where I am to stop. Heis going on an exploring expedition, and wishes to let me know theresult. "

"We stop at Mrs. Allston's, 313 New Street, " said the bishop. "If I canbe of any use to you, I am at your service. "

"Thank you, " said Robert, lifting his hat, as he left them to pursue hisinquiries about his long-lost mother. 

Quickly he trod the old familiar streets which led to his former home. He found Mrs. Johnson, but she had aged very fast since the war. She wasno longer the lithe, active woman, with her proud manner and resolutebearing. Her eye had lost its brightness, her step its elasticity, andher whole appearance indicated that she was slowly sinking beneath aweight of sorrow which was heavier far than her weight of years. Whenshe heard that Robert had called to see her she was going to receive himin the hall, as she would have done any of her former slaves, but hermind immediately changed when she saw him. He was not the light-hearted, careless, mischief-loving Robby of former days, but a handsome man, with heavy moustache, dark, earnest eyes, and proud military bearing. Hesmiled, and reached out his hand to her. She hardly knew how to addresshim. To her colored people were either boys and girls, or "aunties anduncles. " She had never in her life addressed a colored person as "Mr. OrMrs. " To do so now was to violate the social customs of the place. Itwould be like learning a new language in her old age. Robert immediatelyset her at ease by addressing her under the old familiar name of "MissNancy. " This immediately relieved her of all embarrassment. She invitedhim into the sitting-room, and gave him a warm welcome. 

"Well, Robby, " she said, "I once thought that you would have been thelast one to leave me. You know I never ill-treated you, and I gave youeverything you needed. People said that I was spoiling you. I thoughtyou were as happy as the days were long. When I heard of other people'sservants leaving them I used to say to myself, 'I can trust my Bobby; hewill stick to me to the last. ' But I fooled myself that time. Soon asthe Yankee soldiers got in sight you left me without saying a word. Thatmorning I came down into the kitchen and asked Linda, 'Where's Robert?Why hasn't he set the table?' She said 'she hadn't seen you since thenight before. ' I thought maybe you were sick, and I went to see, but youwere not in your room. I couldn't believe at first that you were gone. Wasn't I always good to you?"

"Oh, Miss Nancy, " replied Robert; "you were good, but freedom wasbetter. "

"Yes, " she said, musingly, "I suppose I would have done the same. But, Robby, it did go hard with me at first. However, I soon found out thatmy neighbors had been going through the same thing. But its all overnow. Let by-gones be by-gones. What are you doing now, and where areyou living?"

"I am living in the city of P----. I have opened a hardware store there. But just now I am in search of my mother and sister. "

"I hope that you may find them. "

"How long, " asked Robert, "do you think it has been since they lefthere?"

"Let me see; it must have been nearly thirty years. You got my letter?"

"Yes, ma'am; thank you. "

"There have been great changes since you left here, " Mrs. Johnson said. "Gundover died, and a number of colored men have banded together, boughthis plantation, and divided it among themselves. And I hear they have avery nice settlement out there. I hope, since the Government has setthem free, that they will succeed. "

After Robert's interview with Mrs. Johnson he thought he would visit thesettlement and hunt up his old friends. He easily found the place. Itwas on a clearing in Gundover's woods, where Robert and Uncle Daniel hadheld their last prayer-meeting. Now the gloomy silence of those woodswas broken by the hum of industry, the murmur of cheerful voices, andthe merry laughter of happy children. Where they had trodden with fearand misgiving, freedmen walked with light and bounding hearts. Theschool-house had taken the place of the slave-pen and auction-block. "How is yer, ole boy?" asked one laborer of another. 

"Everything is lobly, " replied the other. The blue sky arching overheadand the beauty of the scenery justified the expression. 

Gundover had died soon after the surrender. Frank Anderson had grownreckless and drank himself to death. His brother Tom had been killed inbattle. Their mother, who was Gundover's daughter, had died insane. Their father had also passed away. The defeat of the Confederates, theloss of his sons, and the emancipation of his slaves, were blows fromwhich he never recovered. As Robert passed leisurely along, delightedwith the evidences of thrift and industry which constantly met his eye, he stopped to admire a garden filled with beautiful flowers, clamberingvines, and rustic adornments. 

On the porch sat an elderly woman, darning stockings, the veryembodiment of content and good humor. Robert looked inquiringly at her. On seeing him, she almost immediately exclaimed, "Shore as I'se born, dat's Robert! Look yere, honey, whar did yer come from? I'll gib my headfer a choppin' block ef dat ain't Miss Nancy's Bob. Ain't yer our Bobby?Shore yer is. "

"Of course I am, " responded Robert. "It isn't anybody else. How did youknow me?"

"How did I know yer? By dem mischeebous eyes, ob course. I'd a knowedyer if I had seed yer in Europe. "

"In Europe, Aunt Linda? Where's that?"

"I don't know. I specs its some big city, somewhar. But yer looks jis'splendid. Yer looks good 'nuff ter kiss. "

"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't say that. You make me blush. "

"Oh you go 'long wid yer. I specs yer's got a nice little wife up darwhar yer comes from, dat kisses yer ebery day, an' Sunday, too. "

"Is that the way your old man does you?"

"Oh, no, not a bit. He isn't one ob de kissin' kine. But sit down, " shesaid, handing Robert a chair. "Won't yer hab a glass ob milk? Boy, I'sea libin' in clover. Neber 'spected ter see sich good times in all myborn days. "

"Well, Aunt Linda, " said Robert, seating himself near her, and drinkingthe glass of milk which she had handed him, "how goes the battle? Howhave you been getting on since freedom?"

"Oh, fust rate, fust rate! Wen freedom com'd I jist lit out ob MissJohnson's kitchen soon as I could. I wanted ter re'lize I war free, an'I couldn't, tell I got out er de sight and soun' ob ole Miss. When dewar war ober an' de sogers war still stopping' yere, I made pies an'cakes, sole em to de sogers, an' jist made money han' ober fist. An' Ikep' on a workin' an' a savin' till my ole man got back from de war widhis wages and his bounty money. I felt right set up an' mighty big wenwe counted all dat money. We had neber seen so much money in our livesbefo', let alone hab it fer ourselbs. An' I sez, 'John, you take dismoney an' git a nice place wid it. ' An' he sez, 'Dere's no use tryin', kase dey don't want ter sell us any lan'. ' Ole Gundover said, 'fore hedied, dat he would let de lan' grow up in trees 'fore he'd sell it tous. An' dere war Mr. Brayton; he buyed some lan' and sole it to somecullud folks, an' his ole frien's got so mad wid him dat dey wouldn'tspeak ter him, an' he war borned down yere. I tole ole Miss Anderson'sdaughter dat we wanted ter git some homes ob our ownselbs. She sez, 'Denyou won't want ter work for us?' Jis' de same as ef we could eat an'drink our houses. I tell yer, Robby, dese white folks don't knoweberything. "

"That's a fact, Aunt Linda. "

"Den I sez ter John, 'wen one door shuts anoder opens. ' An' shore'nough, ole Gundover died, an' his place war all in debt, an' had to besole. Some Jews bought it, but dey didn't want to farm it, so dey gib usa chance to buy it. Dem Jews hez been right helpful to cullud people wendey hab lan' to sell. I reckon dey don't keer who buys it so long as deygits de money. Well, John didn't gib in at fust; didn't want to let onhis wife knowed more dan he did, an' dat he war ruled ober by a woman. Yer know he is an' ole Firginian, an' some ob dem ole Firginians do solub to rule a woman. But I kep' naggin at him, till I specs he got tiredof my tongue, an' he went and buyed dis piece ob lan'. Dis house war onit, an' war all gwine to wrack. It used to belong to John's ole marster. His wife died right in dis house, an' arter dat her husband went rightto de dorgs; an' now he's in de pore-house. My! but ain't dem tablesturned. When we knowed it war our own, warn't my ole man proud! I seedit in him, but he wouldn't let on. Ain't you men powerful 'ceitful?"

"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't put me in with the rest!"

"I don't know 'bout dat. Put you all in de bag for 'ceitfulness, an' Idon't know which would git out fust. "

"Well, Aunt Linda, I suppose by this time you know how to read andwrite?"

"No, chile, sence freedom's com'd I'se bin scratchin' too hard to get alibin' to put my head down to de book. "

"But, Aunt Linda, it would be such company when your husband is away, totake a book. Do you never get lonesome?"

"Chile, I ain't got no time ter get lonesome. Ef you had eber so manychickens to feed, an' pigs squealin' fer somethin' ter eat, an' yoreducks an' geese squakin' 'roun' yer, yer wouldn't hab time ter gitlonesome. "

"But, Aunt Linda, you might be sick for months, and think what a comfortit would be if you could read your Bible. "

"Oh, I could hab prayin' and singin'. Dese people is mighty good 'boutprayin' by de sick. Why, Robby, I think it would gib me de hysterics efI war to try to git book larnin' froo my pore ole head. How long is yergwine to stay? An' whar is yer stoppin?"

"I got here to-day, " said Robert, "but I expect to stay several days. "

"Well, I wants yer to meet my ole man, an' talk 'bout ole times. Couldn't yer come an' stop wid me, or isn't my house sniptious 'nuff?"

"Yes, thank you; but there is a young lady in town whom I think is myniece, my sister's daughter, and I want to be with her all I can. "

"Your niece! Whar did you git any niece from?"

"Don't you remember, " asked Robert, "that my mother had a littledaughter, when Mrs. Johnson sold her? Well, I believe this young lady isthat daughter's child. "

"Laws a marcy!" exclaimed Aunt Linda, "yer don't tell me so! Whar didyer ketch up wid her?"

"I met her first, " said Robert, "at the hospital here, when our poor Tomwas dying; and when I was wounded at Five Forks she attended me in thefield hospital there. She was just as good as gold. "

"Well, did I eber! You jis' fotch dat chile to see me, ef she ain't toofine. I'se pore, but I'se clean, an' I ain't forgot how ter git up gooddinners. Now, I wants ter hab a good talk 'bout our feller-sarvants. "

"Yes, and I, " said Robert, "want to hear all about Uncle Daniel, andJennie, and Uncle Ben Tunnel. "

"Well, I'se got lots an' gobs ter tell yer. I'se kep' track ob dem all. Aunt Katie died an' went ter hebben in a blaze ob glory. Uncle Dan'elstayed on de place till Marse Robert com'd back. When de war war ober hewar smashed all ter pieces. I did pity him from de bottom ob my heart. When he went ter de war he looked so brave an' han'some; an' wen hecom'd back he looked orful. 'Fore he went he gib Uncle Dan'el a bag fullob money ter take kere ob. 'An wen he com'd back Uncle Dan'el gibed himebery cent ob it. It warn't ebery white pusson he could hab trusted widit. 'Cause yer know, Bobby, money's a mighty temptin' thing. Dey tellsme dat Marster Robert los' a heap ob property by de war; but MarseRobert war always mighty good ter Uncle Dan'el and Aunt Katie. He warwid her wen she war dyin' an' she got holt his han' an' made him promisedat he would meet her in glory. I neber seed anybody so happy in mylife. She singed an' prayed ter de last. I tell you dis ole timereligion is good 'nuff fer me. Mr. Robert didn't stay yere long arterher, but I beliebs he went all right. But 'fore he went he looked outfer Uncle Dan'el. Did you see dat nice little cabin down dere wid degreen shutters an' nice little garden in front? Well, 'fore Marse Robertdied he gib Uncle Dan'el dat place, an' Miss Mary and de chillen looksarter him yet; an' he libs jis' as snug as a bug in a rug. I'se gwineter axe him ter take supper wid you. He'll be powerful glad ter seeyou. "

"Do you ever go to see old Miss?" asked Robert. 

"Oh, yes; I goes ebery now and den. But she's jis' fell froo. OleJohnson jis' drunk hisself to death. He war de biggest guzzler I eberseed in my life. Why, dat man he drunk up ebery thing he could lay hishan's on. Sometimes he would go 'roun' tryin' to borrer money from porecullud folks. 'Twas rale drefful de way dat pore feller did frow hisselfaway. But drink did it all. I tell you, Bobby, dat drink's a dreffulthing wen it gits de upper han' ob you. You'd better steer clar ob it. "

"That's so, " assented Robert. 

"I know'd Miss Nancy's fadder and mudder. Dey war mighty rich. Some obde real big bugs. Marse Jim used to know dem, an' come ober ter deplantation, an' eat an' drink wen he got ready, an' stay as long as hechoose. Ole Cousins used to have wine at dere table ebery day, an' MarseJim war mighty fon' ob dat wine, an' sometimes he would drink till hegot quite boozy. Ole Cousins liked him bery well, till he foun' out hewanted his darter, an' den he didn't want him fer rags nor patches. ButMiss Nancy war mighty headstrong, an' allers liked to hab her own way;an' dis time she got it. But didn't she step her foot inter it? OleJohnson war mighty han'some, but when dat war said all war said. Sherun'd off an' got married, but wen she got down she war too spunkey toaxe her pa for anything. Wen you war wid her, yer know she only took bigbugs. But wen de war com'd 'roun' it tore her all ter pieces, an' nowshe's as pore as Job's turkey. I feel's right sorry fer her. Well, Robby, things is turned 'roun' mighty quare. Ole Mistus war up den, an'I war down; now, she's down, an' I'se up. But I pities her, 'cause shewarn't so bad arter all. De wuss thing she eber did war ta sell yourmudder, an' she wouldn't hab done dat but she snatched de whip out obher han' an gib her a lickin'. Now I belieb in my heart she war 'fraidob your mudder arter dat. But we women had ter keep 'em from whippin'us, er dey'd all de time been libin' on our bones. She had no man terwhip us 'cept dat ole drunken husband ob hern, an' he war allers toodrunk ter whip hisself. He jis' wandered off, an' I reckon he died insomebody's pore-house. He warn't no 'count nohow you fix it. Weneber Igoes to town I carries her some garden sass, er a little milk an'butter. An' she's mighty glad ter git it. I ain't got nothin' agin her. She neber struck me a lick in her life, an' I belieb in praising debridge dat carries me ober. Dem Yankees set me free, an' I thinks apowerful heap ob dem. But it does rile me ter see dese mean white mencomin' down yere an' settin' up dere grog-shops, tryin' to fedder derenests sellin' licker to pore culled people. Deys de bery kine ob men datused ter keep dorgs to ketch de runaways. I'd be chokin' fer a drink'fore I'd eber spen' a cent wid dem, a spreadin' dere traps to git deblack folks' money. You jis' go down town 'fore sun up to-morrermornin' an' you see ef dey don't hab dem bars open to sell dere drams todem hard workin' culled people 'fore dey goes ter work. I thinks someniggers is mighty big fools. "

"Oh, Aunt Linda, don't run down your race. Leave that for the whitepeople. "

"I ain't runnin' down my people. But a fool's a fool, wether he's whiteor black. An' I think de nigger who will spen' his hard-earned money indese yere new grog-shops is de biggest kine ob a fool, an' I sticks terdat. You know we didn't hab all dese low places in slave times. An' whatis dey fer, but to get the people's money. An' its a shame how dey dosling de licker 'bout 'lection times. "

"But don't the temperance people want the colored people to vote thetemperance ticket?"

"Yes, but some ob de culled people gits mighty skittish ef dey tries togit em to vote dare ticket 'lection time, an' keeps dem at a properdistance wen de 'lection's ober. Some ob dem say dere's a trick behineit, an' don't want to tech it. Dese white folks could do a heap wid deculled folks ef dey'd only treat em right. "

"When our people say there is a trick behind it, " said Robert, "I onlywish they could see the trick before it--the trick of worse than wastingtheir money, and of keeping themselves and families poorer and moreignorant than there is any need for them to be. "

"Well, Bobby, I beliebs we might be a people ef it warn't for datmizzable drink. An' Robby, I jis' tells yer what I wants; I wants somelibe man to come down yere an' splain things ter dese people. I don'tmean a politic man, but a man who'll larn dese people how to bring updere chillen, to keep our gals straight, an' our boys from runnin' in desaloons an' gamblin' dens. "

"Don't your preachers do that?" asked Robert. 

"Well, some ob dem does, an' some ob dem doesn't. An' wen dey preaches, I want dem to practice wat dey preach. Some ob dem says dey's called, but I jis' thinks laziness called some ob dem. An' I thinks sincefreedom come deres some mighty pore sticks set up for preachers. Nowdere's John Anderson, Tom's brudder; you 'member Tom. "

"Yes; as brave a fellow and as honest as ever stepped in shoe leather. "

"Well, his brudder war mighty diffrent. He war down in de lower kentrywen de war war ober. He war mighty smart, an' had a good head-piece, an'a orful glib tongue. He set up store an' sole whisky, an' made a lot obmoney. Den he wanted ter go to de legislatur. Now what should he do butmake out he'd got 'ligion, an' war called to preach. He had no more'ligion dan my ole dorg. But he had money an' built a meetin' house, whar he could hole meeting, an' hab funerals; an' you know cullud folksis mighty great on funerals. Well dat jis' tuck wid de people, an' hegot 'lected to de legislatur. Den he got a fine house, an' his ole wifewarn't good 'nuff for him. Den dere war a young school-teacher, an' hebegun cuttin' his eyes at her. But she war as deep in de mud as he warin de mire, an' he jis' gib up his ole wife and married her, a fustything. He war a mean ole hypocrit, an' I wouldn't sen' fer him to burymy cat. Robby, I'se down on dese kine ob preachers like a thousandbricks. "

"Well, Aunt Linda, all the preachers are not like him. "

"No; I knows dat; not by a jug full. We's got some mighty good men downyere, an' we's glad when dey comes, an' orful sorry when dey goes 'way. De las preacher we had war a mighty good man. He didn't like too muchhollerin'. "

"Perhaps, " said Robert, "he thought it were best for only one to speakat a time. "

"I specs so. His wife war de nicest and sweetest lady dat eber I didsee. None ob yer airish, stuck up folks, like a tarrapin carryin'eberything on its back. She used ter hab meetins fer de mudders, an'larn us how to raise our chillen, an' talk so putty to de chillen. Isartinly did lub dat woman. "

"Where is she now?" asked Robert. 

"De Conference moved dem 'bout thirty miles from yere. Deys gwine to haba big meetin' ober dere next Sunday. Don't you 'member dem meetins weused to hab in de woods? We don't hab to hide like we did den. But itdon't seem as ef de people had de same good 'ligion we had den. 'Pearslike folks is took up wid makin' money an' politics. "

"Well, Aunt Linda, don't you wish those good old days would come back?"

"No, chile; neber! neber! Wat fer you take me? I'd ruther lib in acorn-crib. Freedom needn't keep me outer heben; an' ef I'se sich a foolas ter lose my 'ligion cause I'se free, I oughtn' ter git dere. "

"But, Aunt Linda, if old Miss were able to take care of you, wouldn'tyou just as leave be back again?"

There was a faint quiver of indignation in Aunt Linda's voice, as shereplied:--

"Don't yer want yer freedom? Well I wants ter pat my free foot. Halleluyah! But, Robby, I wants yer ter go ter dat big meetin' de wusskine. "

"How will I get there?" asked Robert. 

"Oh, dat's all right. My ole man's got two ob de nicest mules you eberset yer eyes on. It'll jis' do yer good ter look at dem. I 'spect you'llsee some ob yer ole frens dere. Dere's a nice settlemen' of cullud folksober dere, an' I wants yer to come an' bring dat young lady. I wants demfolks to see wat nice folks I kin bring to de meetin'. I hope's yerdidn't lose all your 'ligion in de army. "

"Oh, I hope not, " replied Robert. 

"Oh, chile, yer mus' be shore 'bout dat. I don't want yer to ride hope'shoss down to torment. Now be shore an' come to-morrer an' bring datyoung lady, an' take supper wid me. I'se all on nettles to see datchile. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

STRIKING CONTRASTS. 

The next day, Robert, accompanied by Iola, went to the settlement totake supper with Aunt Linda, and a very luscious affair it was. Herfingers had not lost their skill since she had tasted the sweets offreedom. Her biscuits were just as light and flaky as ever. Her jellywas as bright as amber, and her preserves were perfectly delicious. After she had set the table she stood looking in silent admiration, chuckling to herself: "Ole Mistus can't set sich a table as dat. Sheought'er be yere to see it. Specs 'twould make her mouf water. Well, Imus' let by-gones be by-gones. But dis yere freedom's mighty good. "

Aunt Linda had invited Uncle Daniel, and, wishing to give him a pleasantsurprise, she had refrained from telling him that Robert Johnson was theone she wished him to meet. 

"Do you know dis gemmen?" said Aunt Linda to Uncle Daniel, when thelatter arrived. 

"Well, I can't say's I do. My eyes is gittin dim, an I disremembershim. "

"Now jis' you look right good at him. Don't yer 'member him?"

Uncle Daniel looked puzzled and, slowly scanning Robert's features, said: "He do look like somebody I used ter know, but I can't make himout ter save my life. I don't know whar to place him. Who is de gemmen, ennyhow?"

"Why, Uncle Dan'el, " replied Aunt Linda, "dis is Robby; Miss Nancy'sbad, mischeebous Robby, dat war allers playin' tricks on me. "

"Well, shore's I'se born, ef dis ain't our ole Bobby!" exclaimed UncleDaniel, delightedly. "Why, chile, whar did yer come from? Thought youwar dead an' buried long 'go. "

"Why, Uncle Daniel, did you send anybody to kill me?" asked Robert, laughingly. 

"Oh, no'n 'deed, chile! but I yeard dat you war killed in de battle, an'I never 'spected ter see you agin. "

"Well, here I am, " replied Robert, "large as life, and just as natural. And this young lady, Uncle Daniel, I believe is my niece. " As he spokehe turned to Iola. "Do you remember my mother?"

"Oh, yes, " said Uncle Daniel, looking intently at Iola as she steppedforward and cordially gave him her hand. 

"Well, I firmly believe, " continued Robert, "that this is the daughterof the little girl whom Miss Nancy sold away with my mother. "

"Well, I'se rale glad ter see her. She puts me mighty much in mine obdem days wen we war all young togedder; wen Miss Nancy sed, 'Harriet wartoo high fer her. ' It jis' seems like yisterday wen I yeard Miss Nancysay, 'No house could flourish whar dere war two mistresses. ' Well, Mr. Robert--"

"Oh, no, no, Uncle Daniel, " interrupted Robert, "don't say that! Call meRobby or Bob, just as you used to. "

"Well, Bobby, I'se glad klar from de bottom of my heart ter see yer. "

"Even if you wouldn't go with us when we left?"

"Oh, Bobby, dem war mighty tryin' times. You boys didn't know it, butMarster Robert hab giben me a bag ob money ter take keer ob, an' Ipromised him I'd do it an' I had ter be ez good ez my word. "

"Oh, Uncle Daniel, why didn't you tell us boys all about it? We couldhave helped you take care of it. "

"Now, wouldn't dat hab bin smart ter let on ter you chaps, an' hab youhuntin' fer it from Dan ter Barsheba? I specs some ob you would bin arootin' fer it yit!"

"Well, Uncle Daniel, we were young then; I can't tell what we would havedone if we had found it. But we are older now. "

"Yes, yer older, but I wouldn't put it pas' yer eben now, ef yer foun'out whar it war. "

"Yes, " said Iola, laughing, "they say 'caution is the parent ofsafety. '"

"Money's a mighty tempting thing, " said Robert, smiling. 

"But, Robby, dere's nothin' like a klar conscience; a klar conscience, Robby!"

Just then Aunt Linda, who had been completing the preparations for hersupper, entered the room with her husband, and said, "Salters, let meinterdoos you ter my fren', Mr. Robert Johnson, an' his niece, MissLeroy. "

"Why, is it possible, " exclaimed Robert, rising, and shaking hands, "that you are Aunt Linda's husband?"

"Dat's what de parson sed, " replied Salters. 

"I thought, " pursued Robert, "that your name was John Andrews. It wassuch when you were in my company. "

"All de use I'se got fer dat name is ter git my money wid it; an' wendat's done, all's done. Got 'nuff ob my ole Marster in slave times, widout wearin' his name in freedom. Wen I got done wid him, I got donewid his name. Wen I 'listed, I war John Andrews; and wen I gits mypension, I'se John Andrews; but now Salters is my name, an' I likes itbetter. "

"But how came you to be Aunt Linda's husband? Did you get married sincethe war?"

"Lindy an' me war married long 'fore de war. But my ole Marster sole meaway from her an' our little gal, an' den sole her chile ter somebodyelse. Arter freedom, I hunted up our little gal, an' foun' her. She wara big woman den. Den I com'd right back ter dis place an' foun' Lindy. She hedn't married agin, nuther hed I; so we jis' let de parson marry usout er de book; an' we war mighty glad ter git togedder agin, an' feelhitched togedder fer life. "

"Well, Uncle Daniel, " said Robert, turning the conversation toward him, "you and Uncle Ben wouldn't go with us, but you came out all right atlast. "

"Yes, indeed, " said Aunt Linda, "Ben got inter a stream of luck. Arterfreedom com'd, de people had a heap of fath in Ben; an' wen dey wantedsome one to go ter Congress dey jist voted for Ben ter go. An' he went, too. An' wen Salters went to Washin'ton to git his pension, who shouldhe see dere wid dem big men but our Ben, lookin' jist as big as any obdem. "

"An' it did my ole eyes good jist ter see it, " broke in Salters; "if Icouldn't go dere myself, I war mighty glad to see some one ob my peopledat could. I felt like de boy who, wen somebody said he war gwine toslap off his face, said, 'Yer kin slap off my face, but I'se got a bigbrudder, an' you can't slap off his face. ' I went to see him 'fore I lef, and he war jist de same as he war wen we war boys togedder. He hadn'tgot de big head a bit. "

"I reckon Mirandy war mighty sorry she didn't stay wid him. I know Ishould be, " said Aunt Linda. 

"Uncle Daniel, " asked Robert, "are you still preaching?"

"Yes, chile, I'se still firing off de Gospel gun. "

"I hear some of the Northern folks are down here teaching theology, thatis, teaching young men how to preach. Why don't you study theology?"

"Look a yere, boy, I'se been a preachin' dese thirty years, an' you comeyere a tellin' me 'bout studying yore ologies. I larn'd my 'ology at defoot ob de cross. You bin dar?"

"Dear Uncle Daniel, " said Iola, "the moral aspect of the nation would bechanged if it would learn at the same cross to subordinate the spirit ofcaste to the spirit of Christ. "

"Does yer 'member Miss Nancy's Harriet, " asked Aunt Linda, "dat she soleaway kase she wouldn't let her whip her? Well, we think dis is Harriet'sgran'chile. She war sole away from her mar, an' now she's a lookin' ferher. "

"Well, I hopes she may fine her, " replied Salters. "I war sole 'way frommy mammy wen I war eighteen mont's ole, an' I wouldn't know her now froma bunch ob turnips. "

"I, " said Iola, "am on my way South seeking for my mother, and I shallnot give up until I find her. "

"Come, " said Aunt Linda, "we mustn't stan' yer talkin', or de grub'llgit cole. Come, frens, sit down, an' eat some ob my pore supper. "

Aunt Linda sat at the table in such a flutter of excitement that shecould hardly eat, but she gazed with intense satisfaction on her guests. Robert sat on her right hand, contrasting Aunt Linda's pleasantsituation with the old days in Mrs. Johnson's kitchen, where he hadplayed his pranks upon her, and told her the news of the war. 

Over Iola there stole a spirit of restfulness. There was something somotherly in Aunt Linda's manner that it seemed to recall the bright, sunshiny days when she used to nestle in Mam Liza's arms, in her ownhappy home. The conversation was full of army reminiscences andrecollections of the days of slavery. Uncle Daniel was much interested, and, as they rose from the table, exclaimed:--

"Robby, seein' yer an' hearin' yer talk, almos' puts new springs interme. I feel 'mos' like I war gittin' younger. "

After the supper, Salters and his guests returned to the front room, which Aunt Linda regarded with so much pride, and on which she bestowedso much care. 

"Well, Captin, " said Salters, "I neber 'spected ter see you agin. Do youknow de las' time I seed yer? Well, you war on a stretcher, an' four obus war carryin' you ter de hospital. War you much hurt?

"No, " replied Robert, "it was only a flesh wound; and this young ladynursed me so carefully that I soon got over it. "

"Is dat de way you foun' her?"

"Yes, Andrews, "--

"Salters, ef you please, " interrupted Salters. I'se only Andrews wen Igits my money. "

"Well, Salters, " continued Robert, "our freedom was a costly thing. Didyou know that Captain Sybil was killed in one of the last battles of thewar? These young chaps, who are taking it so easy, don't know thehardships through which we older ones passed. But all the battles arenot fought, nor all the victories won. The colored man has escaped fromone slavery, and I don't want him to fall into another. I want the youngfolks to keep their brains clear, and their right arms strong, to fightthe battles of life manfully, and take their places alongside of everyother people in this country. And I cannot see what is to hinder them ifthey get a chance. "

"I don't nuther, " said Salters. "I don't see dat dey drinks any more dananybody else, nor dat dere is any meanness or debilment dat a black mankin do dat a white man can't keep step wid him. "

"Yes, " assented Robert, "but while a white man is stealing a thousanddollars, a black man is getting into trouble taking a few chickens. "

"All that may be true, " said Iola, "but there are some things a whiteman can do that we cannot afford to do. "

"I beliebs eberybody, Norf and Souf, is lookin' at us; an' some ob demain't got no good blood fer us, nohow you fix it, " said Salters. 

"I specs cullud folks mus' hab done somethin', " interposed Aunt Linda. 

"O, nonsense, " said Robert. "I don't think they are any worse than thewhite people. I don't believe, if we had the power, we would do anymore lynching, burning, and murdering than they do. "

"Dat's so, " said Aunt Linda, "it's ralely orful how our folks hab beenmurdered sence de war. But I don't think dese young folks is goin' tertake things as we's allers done. "

"We war cowed down from the beginnin', " said Uncle Daniel, "but deseyoung folks ain't comin' up dat way. "

"No, " said Salters, "fer one night arter some ob our pore people hadbeen killed, an' some ob our women had run'd away 'bout seventeen miles, my gran'son, looking me squar in de face, said: 'Ain't you got fivefingers? Can't you pull a trigger as well as a white man?' I tell yer, Cap, dat jis' got to me, an' I made up my mine dat my boy should nebercall me a coward. "

"It is not to be expected, " said Robert, "that these young people aregoing to put up with things as we did, when we weren't permitted to holda meeting by ourselves, or to own a club or learn to read. "

"I tried, " said Salters, "to git a little out'er de book wen I war in dearmy. On Sundays I sometimes takes a book an' tries to make out dewords, but my eyes is gittin' dim an' de letters all run togedder, an' Igits sleepy, an' ef yer wants to put me to sleep jis' put a book in myhan'. But wen it comes to gittin' out a stan' ob cotton, an' plantin'corn, I'se dere all de time. But dat gran'son ob mine is smart as asteel trap. I specs he'll be a preacher. "

Salters looked admiringly at his grandson, who sat grinning in thecorner, munching a pear he had brought from the table. 

"Yes, " said Aunt Linda, "his fadder war killed by the Secesh, one night, comin' home from a politic meetin', an' his pore mudder died a fewweeks arter, an' we mean to make a man ob him. "

"He's got to larn to work fust, " said Salters, "an' den ef he's rightsmart I'se gwine ter sen' him ter college. An' ef he can't get a libin'one way, he kin de oder. "

"Yes, " said Iola, "I hope he will turn out an excellent young man, forthe greatest need of the race is noble, earnest men, and true women. "

"Job, " said Salters, turning to his grandson, "tell Jake ter hitch up demules, an' you stay dere an' help him. We's all gwine ter de bigmeetin'. Yore grandma hab set her heart on goin', an' it'll be de sameas a spell ob sickness ef she don't hab a chance to show her bes' biban' tucker. That ole gal's as proud as a peacock. "

"Now, John Salters, " exclaimed Aunt Linda, "ain't you 'shamed obyourself? Allers tryin' to poke fun at yer pore wife. Never mine; waittill I'se gone, an' you'll miss me. "

"Ef I war single, " said Salters, "I could git a putty young gal, but itwouldn't be so easy wid you. "

"Why not?" said Iola, smiling. 

"'Cause young men don't want ole hens, an' ole men want young pullets, "was Salter's reply. 

"Robby, honey, " said Aunt Linda, "when you gits a wife, don't treat herlike dat man treats me. "

"Oh, his head's level, " answered Robert; "at least it was in the army. "

"Dat's jis' de way; you see dat, Miss Iola? One man takin' up for deoder. But I'll be eben wid you bof. I must go now an' git ready. "

Iola laughed. The homely enjoyment of that evening was very welcome toher after the trying scenes through which she had passed. Furtherconversation was interrupted by the appearance of the wagon, drawn bytwo fine mules. John Salters stopped joking his wife to admire hismules. 

"Jis' look at dem, " he said. "Ain't dey beauties? I bought 'em out ob mybounty-money. Arter de war war ober I had a little money, an' I wargwine ter rent a plantation on sheers an' git out a good stan' obcotton. Cotton war bringin' orful high prices den, but Lindy said to me, 'Now, John, you'se got a lot ob money, an' you'd better salt it down. I'd ruther lib on a little piece ob lan' ob my own dan a big piece obsomebody else's. Well, I says to Lindy, I dun know nuthin' 'bout buyin'lan', an' I'se 'fraid arter I'se done buyed it an' put all de marrer obdese bones in it, dat somebody's far-off cousin will come an' say detitle ain't good, an' I'll lose it all. "

"You're right thar, John, " said Uncle Daniel. "White man's so unsartain, black man's nebber safe. "

"But somehow, " continued Salters, "Lindy warn't satisfied wid rentin', so I buyed a piece ob lan', an' I'se glad now I'se got it. Lindy's got alot ob gumption; knows most as much as a man. She ain't got dat longhead fer nuffin. She's got lots ob sense, but I don't like to tell herso. "

"Why not?" asked Iola. "Do you think it would make her feel too happy?"

"Well, it don't do ter tell you women how much we thinks ob you. It setsyou up too much. Ole Gundover's overseer war my marster, an' he used terlib in dis bery house. I'se fixed it up sence I'se got it. Now I'sebetter off dan he is, 'cause he tuck to drink, an' all his frens isgone, an' he's in de pore-house. "

Just then Linda came to the door with her baskets. 

"Now, Lindy, ain't you ready yet? Do hurry up. "

"Yes, I'se ready, but things wouldn't go right ef you didn't hurry me. "

"Well, put your chicken fixins an' cake right in yere. Captin, you'llride wid me, an' de young lady an' my ole woman'll take de back seat. Uncle Dan'el, dere's room for you ef you'll go. "

"No, I thank you. It's time fer ole folks to go to bed. Good night! An', Bobby, I hopes to see you agin'. "

CHAPTER XX. 

A REVELATION. 

It was a lovely evening for the journey. The air was soft and balmy. Thefields and hedges were redolent with flowers. Not a single cloudobscured the brightness of the moon or the splendor of the stars. Theancient trees were festooned with moss, which hung like gracefuldraperies. Ever and anon a startled hare glided over the path, andwhip-poor-wills and crickets broke the restful silence of the night. Robert rode quietly along, quaffing the beauty of the scene and thinkingof his boyish days, when he gathered nuts and wild plums in those woods;he also indulged pleasant reminiscences of later years, when, with UncleDaniel and Tom Anderson, he attended the secret prayer-meetings. Iolarode along, conversing with Aunt Linda, amused and interested at thequaintness of her speech and the shrewdness of her intellect. To her theride was delightful. 

"Does yer know dis place, Robby, " asked Aunt Linda, as they passed anold resort. 

"I should think I did, " replied Robert. "It is the place where we heldour last prayer-meeting. "

"An' dere's dat ole broken pot we used, ter tell 'bout de war. Butwarn't ole Miss hoppin' wen she foun' out you war goin' to de war! Ithought she'd go almos' wile. Now, own up, Robby, didn't you feel kineob mean to go off widout eben biddin' her good bye? An' I ralely thinkole Miss war fon' ob yer. Now, own up, honey, didn't yer feel a littledown in de mouf wen yer lef' her. "

"Not much, " responded Robert. "I only thought she was getting paid backfor selling my mother. "

"Dat's so, Robby! yore mudder war a likely gal, wid long black hair, an'kine ob ginger-bread color. An' you neber hearn tell ob her sence deysole her to Georgia?"

"Never, " replied Robert, "but I would give everything I have on earth tosee her once more. I _do_ hope, if she is living, that I may meet herbefore I die. "

"You's right, boy, cause she lub'd you as she lub'd her own life. Many atime hes she set in my ole cabin an' cried 'bout yer wen you war fas'asleep. It's all ober now, but I'se gwine to hole up fer dem Yankees datgib me my freedom, an' sent dem nice ladies from de Norf to gib us somesense. Some ob dese folks calls em nigger teachers, an' won't hab nuffinto do wid 'em, but I jis' thinks dey's splendid. But dere's sometriflin' niggers down yere who'll sell der votes for almost nuffin. Doesyou 'member Jake Williams an' Gundover's Tom? Well dem two niggers is delas' ob pea-time. Dey's mighty small pertaters an' few in a hill. "

"Oh, Aunt Linda, " said Robert, "don't call them niggers. They are ourown people. "

"Dey ain't my kine ob people. I jis' calls em niggers, an' niggers Imeans; an' de bigges' kine ob niggers. An' if my John war sich a niggerI'd whip him an' leave him. "

"An' what would I be a doin', " queried John, suddenly rousing up at themention of his name. 

"Standing still and taking it, I suppose, " said Iola, who had beenquietly listening to and enjoying the conversation. 

"Yes, an' I'd ketch myself stan'in' still an' takin' it, " was John'splucky response. 

"Well, you oughter, ef you's mean enough to wote dat ticket ter put meback inter slavery, " was Aunt Linda's parting shot. "Robby, " shecontinued, "you 'member Miss Nancy's Jinnie?"

"Of course I do, " said Robert. 

"She married Mr. Gundover's Dick. Well, dere warn't much git up an' go'bout him. So, wen 'lection time com'd, de man he war workin' fer tolehim ef he woted de radical ticket he'd turn him off. Well, Jinnie war so'fraid he'd do it, dat she jis' follered him fer days. "

"Poor fellow!" exclaimed Robert. "How did he come out?"

"He certainly was between two fires, " interposed Iola. 

"Oh, Jinnie gained de day. She jis' got her back up, and said, 'Now efyer wote dat ticket ter put me back inter slavery, you take yore ragsan' go. ' An' Dick jis' woted de radical ticket. Jake Williams went on deSecesh side, woted whar he thought he'd git his taters, but he gotfooled es slick es greese. "

"How was that?" asked Robert. 

"Some ob dem folks, dat I 'spects buyed his wote, sent him some flouran' sugar. So one night his wife hab company ter tea. Dey made a bigspread, an' put a lot ob sugar on de table fer supper, an' Tom jis' wentfer dat sugar. He put a lot in his tea. But somehow it didn't taseright, an' wen dey come ter fine out what war de matter, dey hab senthim a barrel ob san' wid some sugar on top, an' wen de sugar war allgone de san' war dare. Wen I yeard it, I jis' split my sides a larfin. It war too good to keep; an' wen it got roun', Jake war as mad as aMarch hare. But it sarved him right. "

"Well, Aunt Linda, you musn't be too hard on Uncle Jake; you know he'sgetting old. "

"Well he ain't too ole ter do right. He ain't no older dan Uncle Dan'el. An' I yered dey offered him $500 ef he'd go on dere side. An' UncleDan'el wouldn't tech it. An' dere's Uncle Job's wife; why didn't she godat way? She war down on Job's meanness. "

"What did she do?"

"Wen 'lection time 'rived, he com'd home bringing some flour an' meat;an' he says ter Aunt Polly, 'Ole woman, I got dis fer de wote. ' She jis'picked up dat meat an' flour an' sent it sailin' outer doors, an' dencom'd back an' gib him a good tongue-lashin'. 'Oder people, ' she said, 'a wotin' ter lib good, an' you a sellin' yore wote! Ain't you got 'nuffob ole Marster, an' ole Marster bin cuttin' you up? It shan't stayyere. ' An' so she wouldn't let de things stay in de house. "

"What did Uncle Job do?"

"He jis' stood dere an' cried. "

"And didn't you feel sorry for him?" asked Iola. 

"Not a bit! he hedn't no business ter be so shabby. "

"But, Aunt Linda, " pursued Iola, "if it were shabby for an ignorantcolored man to sell his vote, wasn't it shabbier for an intelligentwhite man to buy it?"

"You see, " added Robert, "all the shabbiness is not on our side. "

"I knows dat, " said Aunt Linda, "but I can't help it. I wants my peopleto wote right, an' to think somethin' ob demselves. "

"Well, Aunt Linda, they say in every flock of sheep there will be onethat's scabby, " observed Iola. 

"Dat's so! But I ain't got no use fer scabby sheep. "

"Lindy, " cried John, "we's most dar! Don't you yere dat singin'? Dey'sbegun a'ready. "

"Neber mine, " said Aunt Linda, "sometimes de las' ob de wine is debes'. "

Thus discoursing they had beguiled the long hours of the night and madetheir long journey appear short. 

Very soon they reached the church, a neat, commodious, frame building, with a blue ceiling, white walls within and without, and large windowswith mahogany-colored facings. It was a sight full of pathetic interestto see that group which gathered from miles around. They had come tobreak bread with each other, relate their experiences, and tell of theirhopes of heaven. In that meeting were remnants of brokenfamilies--mothers who had been separated from their children before thewar, husbands who had not met their wives for years. After the bread hadbeen distributed and the handshaking was nearly over, Robert raised thehymn which Iola had sung for him when he was recovering from his wounds, and Iola, with her clear, sweet tones, caught up the words and joinedhim in the strain. When the hymn was finished a dear old mother rosefrom her seat. Her voice was quite strong. With still a lingering lightand fire in her eye, she said:--

"I rise, bredren an' sisters, to say I'm on my solemn march to glory. "

"Amen!" "Glory!" came from a number of voices. 

"I'se had my trials an' temptations, my ups an' downs; but I feels I'llsoon be in one ob de many mansions. If it hadn't been for dat hope I'spects I would have broken down long ago. I'se bin through de deepwaters, but dey didn't overflow me; I'se bin in de fire, but de smell obit isn't on my garments. Bredren an' sisters, it war a drefful time whenI war tored away from my pore little chillen. "

"Dat's so!" exclaimed a chorus of voices. Some of her hearers moaned, others rocked to and fro, as thoughts of similar scenes in their ownlives arose before them. 

"When my little girl, " continued the speaker, "took hole ob my dress an'begged me ter let her go wid me, an' I couldn't do it, it mos' broke myheart. I had a little boy, an' wen my mistus sole me she kep' him. Shecarried on a boardin' house. Many's the time I hab stole out at nightan' seen dat chile an' sleep'd wid him in my arms tell mos' day. Bimebyde people I libed wid got hard up fer money, an' dey sole me one way an'my pore little gal de oder; an' I neber laid my eyes on my pore chillensence den. But, honeys, let de wind blow high or low, I 'spects tooutwedder de storm an' anchor by'm bye in bright glory. But I'se bin aprayin' fer one thing, an' I beliebs I'll git it; an' dat is dat I maysee my chillen 'fore I die. Pray fer me dat I may hole out an' hole on, an' neber make a shipwrack ob faith, an' at las' fine my way from earthto glory. "

Having finished her speech, she sat down and wiped away the tears thatflowed all the more copiously as she remembered her lost children. Whenshe rose to speak her voice and manner instantly arrested Robert'sattention. He found his mind reverting to the scenes of his childhood. As she proceeded his attention became riveted on her. Unbidden tearsfilled his eyes and great sobs shook his frame. He trembled in everylimb. Could it be possible that after years of patient search throughchurches, papers, and inquiring friends, he had accidentally stumbled onhis mother--the mother who, long years ago, had pillowed his head uponher bosom and left her parting kiss upon his lips? How should he revealhimself to her? Might not sudden joy do what years of sorrow had failedto accomplish? Controlling his feelings as best he could, he rose totell his experience. He referred to the days when they used to holdtheir meetings in the lonely woods and gloomy swamps. How they hadprayed for freedom and plotted to desert to the Union army; andcontinuing, he said: "Since then, brethren and sisters, I have had mycrosses and trials, but I try to look at the mercies. Just think what itwas then and what it is now! How many of us, since freedom has come, have been looking up our scattered relatives. I have just been over tovisit my old mistress, Nancy Johnson, and to see if I could get someclue to my long-lost mother, who was sold from me nearly thirty yearsago. "

Again there was a chorus of moans. 

On resuming, Robert's voice was still fuller of pathos. 

"When, " he said, "I heard that dear old mother tell her experience itseemed as if some one had risen from the dead. She made me think of myown dear mother, who used to steal out at night to see me, fold me inher arms, and then steal back again to her work. After she was soldaway I never saw her face again by daylight. I have been looking for herever since the war, and I think at last I have got on the right track. If Mrs. Johnson, who kept the boarding-house in C----, is the one whosold that dear old mother from her son, then she is the one I am lookingfor, and I am the son she has been praying for. "

The dear old mother raised her eyes. They were clear and tearless. Anexpression of wonder, hope, and love flitted over her face. It seemed asif her youth were suddenly renewed and, bounding from her seat, sherushed to the speaker in a paroxysm of joy. "Oh, Robby! Robby! is disyou? Is dat my pore, dear boy I'se been prayin' 'bout all dese years?Oh, glory! glory!" And overflowing with joyous excitement she threw herarms around him, looking the very impersonation of rapturous content. Itwas a happy time. Mothers whose children had been torn from them in thedays of slavery knew how to rejoice in her joy. The young people caughtthe infection of the general happiness and rejoiced with them thatrejoiced. There were songs of rejoicing and shouts of praise. Theundertone of sadness which had so often mingled with their songs gaveplace to strains of exultation; and tears of tender sympathy flowed fromeyes which had often been blurred by anguish. The child of many prayersand tears was restored to his mother. 

Iola stood by the mother's side, smiling, and weeping tears of joy. WhenRobert's mother observed Iola, she said to Robert, "Is dis yore wife?"

"Oh, no, " replied Robert, "but I believe she is your grandchild, thedaughter of the little girl who was sold away from you so long ago. Sheis on her way to the farther South in search of her mother. "

"Is she? Dear chile! I hope she'll fine her! She puts me in mine ob mypore little Marie. Well, I'se got one chile, an' I means to keep onprayin' tell I fine my daughter. I'm _so_ happy! I feel's like a newwoman!"

"My dear mother, " said Robert, "now that I have found you, I mean tohold you fast just as long as you live. Ever since the war I have beentrying to find out if you were living, but all efforts failed. At last, I thought I would come and hunt you myself and, now that I have foundyou, I am going to take you home to live with me, and to be as happy asthe days are long. I am living in the North, and doing a good businessthere. I want you to see joy according to all the days wherein you haveseen sorrow. I do hope this young lady will find _her_ ma and that, whenfound, she will prove to be your daughter!"

"Yes, pore, dear chile! I specs her mudder's heart's mighty hungry ferher. I does hope she's my gran'chile. "

Tenderly and caressingly Iola bent over the happy mother, with her heartfilled with mournful memories of her own mother. 

Aunt Linda was induced to stay until the next morning, and then gladlyassisted Robert's mother in arranging for her journey northward. Thefriends who had given her a shelter in their hospitable home, learned tovalue her so much that it was with great reluctance they resigned her tothe care of her son. Aunt Linda was full of bustling activity, and herspirits overflowed with good humor. 

"Now, Harriet, " she said, as they rode along on their return journey, "you mus' jis' thank me fer finin' yore chile, 'cause I got him to cometo dat big meetin' wid me. "

"Oh, Lindy, " she cried, "I'se glad from de bottom ob my heart ter seeyou's all. I com'd out dere ter git a blessin', an' I'se got a doublepo'tion. De frens I war libin' wid war mighty good ter me. Dey lib'd widme in de lower kentry, an' arter de war war ober I stopped wid 'em andhelped take keer ob de chillen; an' when dey com'd up yere dey broughtme wid 'em. I'se com'd a way I didn't know, but I'se mighty glad I'secom'd. "

"Does you know dis place?" asked Aunt Linda, as they approached thesettlement. 

"No'n 'deed I don't. It's all new ter me. "

"Well, dis is whar I libs. Ain't you mighty tired? I feels a littlestiffish. Dese bones is gittin' ole. "

"Dat's so! But I'se mighty glad I'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore I crossedober de riber. An' now I feel like ole Simeon. "

"But, mother, " said Robert, "if you are ready to go, I am not willing tolet you. I want you to stay ever so long where I can see you. "

A bright smile overspread her face. Robert's words reassured andgladdened her heart. She was well satisfied to have a pleasant aftermathfrom life on this side of the river. 

After arriving home Linda's first thought was to prepare dinner for herguests. But, before she began her work of preparation, she went to thecupboard to get a cup of home-made wine. 

"Here, " she said, filling three glasses, "is some wine I made myselffrom dat grape-vine out dere. Don't it look nice and clar? Jist tasteit. It's fus'rate. "

"No, thank you, " said Robert. "I'm a temperance man, and never takeanything which has alcohol in it. "

"Oh, dis ain't got a bit ob alcohol in it. I made it myself. "

"But, Aunt Linda, you didn't make the law which ferments grape-juice andmakes it alcohol. "

"But, Robby, ef alcohol's so bad, w'at made de Lord put it here?"

"Aunt Lindy, " said Iola, "I heard a lady say that there were two thingsthe Lord didn't make. One is sin, and the other alcohol. "

"Why, Aunt Linda, " said Robert, "there are numbers of things the Lordhas made that I wouldn't touch with a pair of tongs. "

"What are they?"

"Rattlesnakes, scorpions, and moccasins. "

"Oh, sho!"

"Aunt Linda, " said Iola, "the Bible says that the wine at last will bitelike a serpent and sting like an adder. "

"And, Aunt Linda, " added Robert, "as I wouldn't wind a serpent around mythroat, I don't want to put something inside of it which will bite likea serpent and sting as an adder. "

"I reckon Robby's right, " said his mother, setting down her glass andleaving the wine unfinished. "You young folks knows a heap more dan weole folks. " "Well, " declared Aunt Linda, "you all is temp'rence to debackbone. But what could I do wid my wine ef we didn't drink it?"

"Let it turn to vinegar, and sign the temperance pledge, " repliedRobert. 

"I don't keer 'bout it myself, but I don't 'spect John would be willin'ter let it go, 'cause he likes it a heap. "

"Then you must give it up for his sake and Job's, " said Robert. "Theymay learn to like it too well. "

"You know, Aunt Linda, " said Iola, "people don't get to be drunkards allat once. And you wouldn't like to feel, if Job should learn to drink, that you helped form his appetite. "

"Dat' so! I beliebs I'll let dis turn to winegar, an' not make anymore. "

"That's right, Aunt Linda. I hope you'll hold to it, " said Robert, encouragingly. 

Very soon Aunt Linda had an excellent dinner prepared. After it was overRobert went with Iola to C----, where her friend, the bishop, wasawaiting her return. She told him the wonderful story of Robert'sfinding his mother, and of her sweet, childlike faith. 

The bishop, a kind, fatherly man, said, "Miss Iola, I hope that suchhappiness is in store for you. My dear child, still continue to pray andtrust. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in prayer. I knew an oldlady living in Illinois, who was a slave. Her son got a chance to comeNorth and beg money to buy his mother. The mother was badly treated, andmade up her mind to run away. But before she started she thought shewould kneel down to pray. And something, she said, reasoned within her, and whispered, 'Stand still and see what I am going to do for you. ' Soreal was it to her that she unpacked her bundle and desisted from herflight. Strange as it may appear to you, her son returned, bringingwith him money enough to purchase her freedom, and she was redeemed frombondage. Had she persisted in running away she might have been lost inthe woods and have died, exhausted by starvation. But she believed, shetrusted, and was delivered. Her son took her North, where she could finda resting place for the soles of her feet. "

That night Iola and the bishop left for the South. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

A HOME FOR MOTHER. 

After Iola had left the settlement, accompanied by Robert as far as thetown, it was a pleasant satisfaction for the two old friends to settlethemselves down, and talk of times past, departed friends, andlong-forgotten scenes. 

"What, " said Mrs. Johnson, as we shall call Robert's mother, "hab becomeob Miss Nancy's husband? Is he still a libin'?"

"Oh, he drunk hisself to death, " responded Aunt Linda. 

"He used ter be mighty handsome. "

"Yes, but drink war his ruination. "

"An' how's Miss Nancy?"

"Oh, she's com'd down migh'ly. She's pore as a church mouse. I thought'twould com'd home ter her wen she sole yer 'way from yore chillen. Dere's nuffin goes ober de debil's back dat don't come under his belly. Do yo 'member Miss Nancy's fardder?"

"Ob course I does!"

"Well, " said Aunt Linda, "he war a nice ole gemmen. Wen he died, I saidde las' gemmen's dead, an' dere's noboddy ter step in his shoes. "

"Pore Miss Nancy!" exclaimed Robert's mother. "I ain't nothin' agin her. But I wouldn't swap places wid her, 'cause I'se got my son; an' Ibeliebs he'll do a good part by me. "

"Mother, " said Robert, as he entered the room, "I've brought an oldfriend to see you. Do you remember Uncle Daniel?"

Uncle Daniel threw back his head, reached out his hand, and manifestedhis joy with "Well, Har'yet! is dis you? I neber 'spected to see you indese lower grouns! How does yer do? an' whar hab you bin all dis time?"

"O, I'se been tossin' roun' 'bout; but it's all com'd right at las'. I'se lib'd to see my boy 'fore I died. "

"My wife an' boys is in glory, " said Uncle Daniel. "But I 'spects to see'em 'fore long. 'Cause I'se tryin' to dig deep, build sure, an' make myway from earth ter glory. "

"Dat's de right kine ob talk, Dan'el. We ole folks ain't got long terstay yere. "

They chatted together until Job and Salters came home for supper. Afterthey had eaten, Uncle Daniel said:--

"We'll hab a word ob prayer. "

There, in that peaceful habitation, they knelt down, and mingled theirprayers together, as they had done in by-gone days, when they had met bystealth in lonely swamps or silent forests. 

The next morning Robert and his mother started northward. They were wellsupplied with a bountiful luncheon by Aunt Linda, who had so thoroughlyenjoyed their sojourn with her. On the next day he arrived in the cityof P----, and took his mother to his boarding-house, until he could finda suitable home into which to install her. He soon came across one whichjust suited his taste, but when the agent discovered that Robert'smother was colored, he told him that the house had been previouslyengaged. In company with his mother he looked at several other houses indesirable neighborhoods, but they were constantly met with the answer, "The house is engaged, " or, "We do not rent to colored people. "

At length Robert went alone, and, finding a desirable house, engaged it, and moved into it. In a short time it was discovered that he wascolored, and, at the behest of the local sentiment of the place, thelandlord used his utmost endeavors to oust him, simply because hebelonged to an unfashionable and unpopular race. At last he came acrossa landlord who was broad enough to rent him a good house, and he found aquiet resting place among a set of well-to-do and well-disposed people. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

FURTHER LIFTING OF THE VEIL. 

In one of those fearful conflicts by which the Mississippi was freedfrom Rebel intrusion and opened to commerce Harry was severely wounded, and forced to leave his place in the ranks for a bed in the hospital. 

One day, as he lay in his bed, thinking of his former home inMississippi and wondering if the chances of war would ever restore himto his loved ones, he fell into a quiet slumber. When he awoke he founda lady bending over him, holding in her hands some fruit and flowers. Asshe tenderly bent over Harry's bed their eyes met, and with a thrill ofgladness they recognized each other. 

"Oh, my son, my son!" cried Marie, trying to repress her emotion, as shetook his wasted hand in hers, and kissed the pale cheeks that sicknessand suffering had blanched. Harry was very weak, but her presence was acall to life. He returned the pressure of her hand, kissed it, and hiseyes grew full of sudden light, as he murmured faintly, but joyfully:--

"Mamma; oh, mamma! have I found you at last?"

The effort was too much, and he immediately became unconscious. 

Anxious, yet hopeful, Marie sat by the bedside of her son tillconsciousness was restored. Caressingly she bent over his couch, murmuring in her happiness the tenderest, sweetest words of motherlylove. In Harry's veins flowed new life and vigor, calming therestlessness of his nerves. 

As soon as possible Harry was carried to his mother's home; a homebrought into the light of freedom by the victories of General Grant. Nursed by his mother's tender, loving care, he rapidly recovered, but, being too disabled to re-enter the army, he was honorably discharged. 

Lorraine had taken Marie to Vicksburg, and there allowed her to engagein confectionery and preserving for the wealthy ladies of the city. Hehad at first attempted to refugee with her in Texas, but, being foiledin the attempt, he was compelled to enlist in the Confederate Army, andmet his fate by being killed just before the surrender of Vicksburg. 

"My dear son, " Marie would say, as she bent fondly over him, "I amdeeply sorry that you are wounded, but I am glad that the fortunes ofwar have brought us together. Poor Iola! I _do_ wonder what has becomeof her? Just as soon as this war is over I want you to search thecountry all over. Poor child! How my heart has ached for her!"

Time passed on. Harry and his mother searched and inquired for Iola, butno tidings of her reached them. 

Having fully recovered his health, and seeing the great need ofeducation for the colored people, Harry turned his attention towardthem, and joined the new army of Northern teachers. 

He still continued his inquiries for his sister, not knowing whether ornot she had succumbed to the cruel change in her life. He thought shemight have passed into the white basis for the sake of bettering herfortunes. Hope deferred, which had sickened his mother's heart, hadonly roused him to renewed diligence. 

A school was offered him in Georgia, and thither he repaired, taking hismother with him. They were soon established in the city of A----. Inhope of finding Iola he visited all the conferences of the MethodistChurch, but for a long time his search was in vain. 

"Mamma, " said Harry, one day during his vacation, "there is to be aMethodist Conference in this State in the city of S----, about onehundred and fifty miles from here. I intend to go and renew my searchfor Iola. "

"Poor child!" burst out Marie, as the tears gathered in her eyes, "Iwonder if she is living. "

"I think so, " said Harry, kissing the pale cheek of his mother; "I don'tfeel that Iola is dead. I believe we will find her before long. "

"It seems to me my heart would burst with joy to see my dear child justonce more. I am glad that you are going. When will you leave?"

"To-morrow morning. "

"Well, my son, go, and my prayers will go with you, " was Marie's tenderparting wish. 

Early next morning Harry started for the conference, and reached thechurch before the morning session was over. Near him sat two ladies, onefair, the other considerably darker. There was something in the fairerone that reminded him forcibly of his sister, but she was much older andgraver than he imagined his sister to be. Instantly he dismissed thethought that had forced itself into his mind, and began to listenattentively to the proceedings of the conference. 

When the regular business of the morning session was over the bishoparose and said:--

"I have an interesting duty to perform. I wish to introduce a young ladyto the conference, who was the daughter of a Mississippi planter. She isnow in search of her mother and brother, from whom she was sold a fewmonths before the war. Her father married her mother in Ohio, where hehad taken her to be educated. After his death they were robbed of theirinheritance and enslaved by a distant relative named Lorraine. Miss IolaLeroy is the young lady's name. If any one can give the leastinformation respecting the objects of her search it will be thankfullyreceived. "

"I can, " exclaimed a young man, rising in the midst of the audience, andpressing eagerly, almost impetuously, forward. "I am her brother, and Icame here to look for her. "

Iola raised her eyes to his face, so flushed and bright with the glow ofrecognition, rushed to him, threw her arms around his neck, kissed himagain and again, crying: "O, Harry!" Then she fainted from excitement. The women gathered around her with expressions of tender sympathy, andgave her all the care she needed. They called her the "dear child, " forwithout any effort on her part she had slidden into their hearts andfound a ready welcome in each sympathizing bosom. 

Harry at once telegraphed the glad tidings to his mother, who waitedtheir coming with joyful anticipation. Long before the cars reached thecity, Mrs. Leroy was at the depot, restlessly walking the platform oreagerly peering into the darkness to catch the first glimpse of thetrain which was bearing her treasures. 

At length the cars arrived, and, as Harry and Iola alighted, Marierushed forward, clasped Iola in her arms and sobbed out her joy inbroken words. 

Very happy was the little family that sat together around thesupper-table for the first time for years. They partook of that supperwith thankful hearts and with eyes overflowing with tears of joy. Verytouching were the prayers the mother uttered, when she knelt with herchildren that night to return thanks for their happy reunion, and toseek protection through the slumbers of the night. 

The next morning, as they sat at the breakfast-table, Marie said:

"My dear child, you are so changed I do not think I would have known youif I had met you in the street!"

"And I, " said Harry, "can hardly realize that you are our own Iola, whomI recognized as sister a half dozen years ago. "

"Am I so changed?" asked Iola, as a faint sigh escaped her lips. 

"Why, Iola, " said Harry, "you used to be the most harum-scarum girl Iever knew, laughing, dancing, and singing from morning until night. "

"Yes, I remember, " said Iola. "It all comes back to me like a dream. Oh, mamma! I have passed through a fiery ordeal of suffering since then. Butit is useless, " and as she continued her face assumed a brighter look, "to brood over the past. Let us be happy in the present. Let me tell yousomething which will please you. Do you remember telling me about yourmother and brother?"

"Yes, " said Marie, in a questioning tone. "

"Well, " continued Iola, with eyes full of gladness, "I think I havefound them. "

"Can it be possible!" exclaimed Marie, in astonishment. "It is more thanthirty years since we parted. I fear you are mistaken. "

"No, mamma; I have drawn my conclusions from good circumstantialevidence. After I was taken from you, I passed through a fearful siegeof suffering, which would only harrow up your soul to hear. I oftenshudder at the remembrance. The last man in whose clutches I foundmyself was mean, brutal, and cruel. I was in his power when the Unionarmy came into C----, where I was living. A number of colored menstampeded to the Union ranks, with a gentleman as a leader, whom I thinkis your brother. A friend of his reported my case to the commander ofthe post, who instantly gave orders for my release. A place was given meas nurse in the hospital. I attended that friend in his last illness. Poor fellow! he was the best friend I had in all the time I have beentossing about. The gentleman whom I think is your brother appeared to bevery anxious about his friend's recovery, and was deeply affected by hisdeath. In one of the last terrible battles of the war, that of FiveForks, he was wounded and put into the hospital ward where I was anattendant. For awhile he was delirious, and in his delirium he wouldsometimes think that I was his mother and at other times his sister. Ihumored his fancies, would often sing to him when he was restless, andmy voice almost invariably soothed him to sleep. One day I sang to himthat old hymn we used to sing on the plantation:--

 "Drooping souls no longer grieve, Heaven is propitious; If on Christ you do believe, You will find Him precious. "

"I remember, " said Marie, with a sigh, as memories of the past sweptover her. 

"After I had finished the hymn, " continued Iola, "he looked earnestlyand inquiringly into my face, and asked, 'Where did you learn that hymn?I have heard my mother sing it when I was a boy, but I have never heardit since. ' I think, mamma, the words, 'I was lost but now I'm found;glory! glory! glory!' had imprinted themselves on his memory, and thathis mind was assuming a higher state of intellectuality. He asked me tosing it again, which I did, until he fell asleep. Then I noticed amarked resemblance between him and Harry, and I thought, 'Suppose heshould prove to be your long-lost brother?' During his convalescence wefound that we had a common ground of sympathy. We were anxious to bereunited to our severed relations. We had both been separated from ourmothers. He told me of his little sister, with whom he used to play. Shehad a mole on her cheek which he called her beauty spot. He had the redspot on his forehead which you told me of. "

CHAPTER XXIII. 

DELIGHTFUL REUNIONS. 

Very bright and happy was the home where Marie and her children weregathered under one roof. Mrs. Leroy's neighbors said she looked tenyears younger. Into that peaceful home came no fearful forebodings ofcruel separations. Harry and Iola were passionately devoted to theirmother, and did all they could to flood her life with sunshine. 

"Iola, dear, " said Harry, one morning at the breakfast-table, "I have anew pleasure in store for you. "

"What is it, brother mine?" asked Iola, assuming an air of interest. 

"There is a young lady living in this city to whom I wish to introduceyou. She is one of the most remarkable women I have ever met. "

"Do tell me all about her, " said Iola. "Is she young and handsome, brilliant and witty?

"She, " replied Harry, "is more than handsome, she is lovely; more thanwitty, she is wise; more than brilliant, she is excellent. "

"Well, Harry, " said Mrs. Leroy, smiling, "if you keep on that way Ishall begin to fear that I shall soon be supplanted by a new daughter. "

"Oh, no, mamma, " replied Harry, looking slightly confused, "I did notmean that. "

"Well, Harry, " said Iola, amused, "go on with your description; I ambecoming interested. Tax your powers of description to give me herlikeness. "

"Well, in the first place, " continued Harry, "I suppose she is abouttwenty-five years old. "

"Oh, the idea, " interrupted Iola, "of a gentleman talking of a lady'sage. That is a tabooed subject. "

"Why, Iola, that adds to the interest of my picture. It is hercombination of earnestness and youthfulness which enhances her in myestimation. "

"Pardon the interruption, " said Iola; "I am anxious to hear more abouther. "

"Well, she is of medium height, somewhat slender, and well formed, withdark, expressive eyes, full of thought and feeling. Neither hair norcomplexion show the least hint of blood admixture. "

"I am glad of it, " said Iola. "Every person of unmixed blood whosucceeds in any department of literature, art, or science is a livingargument for the capability which is in the race. "

"Yes, " responded Harry, "for it is not the white blood which is on trialbefore the world. Well, I will bring her around this evening. "

In the evening Harry brought Miss Delany to call on his sister andmother. They were much pleased with their visitor. Her manner was acombination of suavity and dignity. During the course of the eveningthey learned that she was a graduate of the University of A----. One dayshe saw in the newspapers that colored women were becoming unfit to beservants for white people. She then thought that if they are not fit tobe servants for white people, they are unfit to be mothers to their ownchildren, and she conceived the idea of opening a school to train futurewives and mothers. She began on a small scale, in a humble building, and her work was soon crowned with gratifying success. She had enlargedher quarters, increased her teaching force, and had erected a large andcommodious school-house through her own exertions and the help ofothers. 

Marie cordially invited her to call again, saying, as she rose to go: "Iam very glad to have met you. Young women like you always fill my heartwith hope for the future of our race. In you I see reflected some of theblessed possibilities which lie within us. "

"Thank you, " said Miss Delany, "I want to be classed among those of whomit is said, 'She has done what she could. '"

Very pleasant was the acquaintance which sprang up between Miss Delanyand Iola. Although she was older than Iola, their tastes were socongenial, their views of life and duty in such unison, that theiracquaintance soon ripened into strong and lasting friendship. There wereno foolish rivalries and jealousies between them. Their lives were toofull of zeal and earnestness for them to waste in selfishness theirpower to be moral and spiritual forces among a people who so much neededtheir helping hands. Miss Delany gave Iola a situation in her school;but before the term was quite over she was force to resign, her healthhaving been so undermined by the fearful strain through which she hadpassed, that she was quite unequal to the task. She remained at home, and did what her strength would allow in assisting her mother in thework of canning and preserving fruits. 

In the meantime, Iola had been corresponding with Robert. She had toldhim of her success in finding her mother and brother, and had receivedan answer congratulating her on the glad fruition of her hopes. He alsosaid that his business was flourishing, that his mother was keepinghouse for him, and, to use her own expression, was as happy as the daysare long. She was firmly persuaded that Marie was her daughter, and shewanted to see her before she died. 

"There is one thing, " continued the letter, "that your mother mayremember her by. It was a little handkerchief on which were a number ofcats' heads. She gave one to each of us. "

"I remember it well, " said Marie, "she must, indeed, be my mother. Now, all that is needed to complete my happiness is her presence, and mybrother's. And I intend, if I live long enough, to see them both. "

Iola wrote Robert that her mother remembered the incident of thehandkerchief, and was anxious to see them. 

In the early fall Robert started for the South in order to clear up alldoubts with respect to their relationship. He found Iola, Harry, andtheir mother living cosily together. Harry was teaching and was a leaderamong the rising young men of the State. His Northern education andlater experience had done much toward adapting him to the work of thenew era which had dawned upon the South. 

Marie was very glad to welcome Robert to her home, but it was almostimpossible to recognize her brother in that tall, handsome man, withdark-brown eyes and wealth of chestnut-colored hair, which he readilylifted to show the crimson spot which lay beneath it. 

But as they sat together, and recalled the long-forgotten scenes oftheir childhood, they concluded that they were brother and sister. 

"Marie, " said Robert, "how would you like to leave the South?"

"I should like to go North, but I hate to leave Harry. He's a splendidyoung fellow, although I say it myself. He is so fearless and outspokenthat I am constantly anxious about him, especially at election time. "

Harry then entered the room, and, being introduced to Robert, gave him acordial welcome. He had just returned from school. 

"We were talking of you, my son, " said Marie. 

"What were you saying? Nothing of the absent but good?" asked Harry. 

"I was telling your uncle, who wants me to come North, that I would go, but I am afraid that you will get into trouble and be murdered, as manyothers have been. "

"Oh, well, mother, I shall not die till my time comes. And if I diehelping the poor and needy, I shall die at my post. Could a man choose abetter place to die?"

"Were you aware of the virulence of caste prejudice and the disabilitieswhich surround the colored people when you cast your lot with them?"asked Robert. 

"Not fully, " replied Harry; "but after I found out that I was colored, Iconsulted the principal of the school, where I was studying, inreference to the future. He said that if I stayed in the North, he hadfriends whom he believed would give me any situation I could fill, and Icould simply take my place in the rank of workers, the same as any otherman. Then he told me of the army, and I made up my mind to enter it, actuated by a desire to find my mother and sister; and at any rate Iwanted to avenge their wrongs. I do not feel so now. Since I have seenthe fearful ravages of war, I have learned to pity and forgive. Theprincipal said he thought I would be more apt to find my family if Ijoined a colored regiment in the West than if I joined one of the Mainecompanies. I confess at first I felt a shrinking from taking the step, but love for my mother overcame all repugnance on my part. Now that Ihave linked my fortunes to the race I intend to do all I can for itselevation. "

As he spoke Robert gazed admiringly on the young face, lit up by noblepurposes and lofty enthusiasm. 

"You are right, Harry. I think it would be treason, not only to therace, but to humanity, to have you ignoring your kindred andmasquerading as a white man. "

"I think so, too, " said Marie. 

"But, sister, I am anxious for you all to come North. If Harry feelsthat the place of danger is the post of duty, let him stay, and he canspend his vacations with us. I think both you and Iola need rest andchange. Mother longs to see you before she dies. She feels that we havebeen the children of many prayers and tears, and I want to make her lastdays as happy as possible. The South has not been a paradise to you allthe time, and I should think you would be willing to leave it. "

"Yes, that is so. Iola needs rest and change, and she would be such acomfort to mother. I suppose, for her sake, I will consent to have hergo back with you, at least for awhile. "

In a few days, with many prayers and tears, Marie, half reluctantly, permitted Iola to start for the North in company with Robert Johnson, intending to follow as soon as she could settle her business and seeHarry in a good boarding place. 

Very joyful was the greeting of the dear grandmother. Iola soon nestledin her heart and lent additional sunshine to her once checkered life, and Robert, who had so long been robbed of kith and kin, was delightedwith the new accession to his home life. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

NORTHERN EXPERIENCE. 

"Uncle Robert, " said Iola, after she had been North several weeks, "Ihave a theory that every woman ought to know how to earn her own living. I believe that a great amount of sin and misery springs from theweakness and inefficiency of women. "

"Perhaps that's so, but what are you going to do about it?"

"I am going to join the great rank of bread-winners. Mr. Waterman hasadvertised for a number of saleswomen, and I intend to makeapplication. "

"When he advertises for help he means white women, " said Robert. 

"He said nothing about color, " responded Iola. 

"I don't suppose he did. He doesn't expect any colored girl to apply. "

"Well, I think I could fill the place. At least I should like to try. And I do not think when I apply that I am in duty bound to tell him mygreat-grandmother was a negro. "

"Well, child, there is no necessity for you to go out to work. You areperfectly welcome here, and I hope that you feel so. "

"Oh, I certainly do. But still I would rather earn my own living. "

That morning Iola applied for the situation, and, being prepossessing inher appearance, she obtained it. 

For awhile everything went as pleasantly as a marriage bell. But one daya young colored lady, well-dressed and well-bred in her manner, enteredthe store. It was an acquaintance which Iola had formed in the coloredchurch which she attended. Iola gave her a few words of cordialgreeting, and spent a few moments chatting with her. The attention ofthe girls who sold at the same counter was attracted, and theirsuspicion awakened. Iola was a stranger in that city. Who was she, andwho were her people? At last it was decided that one of the girls shouldact as a spy, and bring what information she could concerning Iola. 

The spy was successful. She found out that Iola was living in a goodneighborhood, but that none of the neighbors knew her. The man of thehouse was very fair, but there was an old woman whom Iola called"Grandma, " and she was unmistakably colored. The story was sufficient. If that were true, Iola must be colored, and she should be treatedaccordingly. 

Without knowing the cause, Iola noticed a chill in the social atmosphereof the store, which communicated itself to the cash-boys, and theytreated her so insolently that her situation became very uncomfortable. She saw the proprietor, resigned her position, and asked for andobtained a letter of recommendation to another merchant who hadadvertised for a saleswoman. 

In applying for the place, she took the precaution to inform heremployer that she was colored. It made no difference to him; but hesaid:--

"Don't say anything about it to the girls. They might not be willing towork with you. "

Iola smiled, did not promise, and accepted the situation. She enteredupon her duties, and proved quite acceptable as a saleswoman. 

One day, during an interval in business, the girls began to talk oftheir respective churches, and the question was put to Iola:--

"Where do you go to church?"

"I go, " she replied, "to Rev. River's church, corner of Eighth and LStreets. "

"Oh, no; you must be mistaken. There is no church there except a coloredone. "

"That is where I go. "

"Why do you go there?"

"Because I liked it when I came here, and joined it. "

"A member of a colored church? What under heaven possessed you to dosuch a thing?"

"Because I wished to be with my own people. "

Here the interrogator stopped, and looked surprised and pained, andalmost instinctively moved a little farther from her. After the storewas closed, the girls had an animated discussion, which resulted in theinformation being sent to Mr. Cohen that Iola was a colored girl, andthat they protested against her being continued in his employ. Mr. Cohenyielded to the pressure, and informed Iola that her services were nolonger needed. 

When Robert came home in the evening, he found that Iola had lost hersituation, and was looking somewhat discouraged. 

"Well, uncle, " she said, "I feel out of heart. It seems as if theprejudice pursues us through every avenue of life, and assigns us thelowest places. "

"That is so, " replied Robert, thoughtfully. 

"And yet I am determined, " said Iola, "to win for myself a place in thefields of labor. I have heard of a place in New England, and I mean totry for it, even if I only stay a few months. "

"Well, if you _will_ go, say nothing about your color. "

"Uncle Robert, I see no necessity for proclaiming that fact on thehouse-top. Yet I am resolved that nothing shall tempt me to deny it. Thebest blood in my veins is African blood, and I am not ashamed of it. "

"Hurrah for you!" exclaimed Robert, laughing heartily. 

As Iola wished to try the world for herself, and so be prepared for anyemergency, her uncle and grandmother were content to have her go to NewEngland. The town to which she journeyed was only a few hours' ride fromthe city of P----, and Robert, knowing that there is no teacher likeexperience, was willing that Iola should have the benefit of herteaching. 

Iola, on arriving in H----, sought the firm, and was informed that herservices were needed. She found it a pleasant and lucrative position. There was only one drawback--her boarding place was too far from herwork. There was an institution conducted by professed Christian women, which was for the special use of respectable young working girls. Thiswas in such a desirable location that she called at the house to engageboard. 

The matron conducted her over the house, and grew so friendly in theinterview that she put her arm around her, and seemed to look upon Iolaas a desirable accession to the home. But, just as Iola was leaving, shesaid to the matron: "I must be honest with you; I am a colored woman. "

Swift as light a change passed over the face of the matron. She withdrewher arm from Iola, and said: "I must see the board of managers aboutit. "

When the board met, Iola's case was put before them, but they decidednot to receive her. And these women, professors of a religion whichtaught, "If ye have respect to persons ye commit sin, " virtually shutthe door in her face because of the outcast blood in her veins. 

Considerable feeling was aroused by the action of these women, who, tosay the least, had not put their religion in the most favorable light. 

Iola continued to work for the firm until she received letters from hermother and uncle, which informed her that her mother, having arrangedher affairs in the South, was ready to come North. She then resolved toreturn, to the city of P----, to be ready to welcome her mother on herarrival. 

Iola arrived in time to see that everything was in order for hermother's reception. Her room was furnished neatly, but with thosetouches of beauty that womanly hands are such adepts in giving. A fewcharming pictures adorned the walls, and an easy chair stood waiting toreceive the travel-worn mother. Robert and Iola met her at the depot;and grandma was on her feet at the first sound of the bell, opened thedoor, clasped Marie to her heart, and nearly fainted for joy. 

"Can it be possible dat dis is my little Marie?" she exclaimed. 

It did seem almost impossible to realize that this faded woman, withpale cheeks and prematurely whitened hair, was the rosy-cheeked childfrom whom she had been parted more than thirty years. 

"Well, " said Robert, after the first joyous greeting was over, "love isa very good thing, but Marie has had a long journey and needs somethingthat will stick by the ribs. How about dinner, mother?"

"It's all ready, " said Mrs. Johnson. 

After Marie had gone to her room and changed her dress, she came downand partook of the delicious repast which her mother and Iola hadprepared for her. 

In a few days Marie was settled in the home, and was well pleased withthe change. The only drawback to her happiness was the absence of herson, and she expected him to come North after the closing of his school. 

"Uncle Robert, " said Iola, after her mother had been with them severalweeks, "I am tired of being idle. "

"What's the matter now?" asked Robert. "You are surely not going Eastagain, and leave your mother?"

"Oh, I hope not, " said Marie, anxiously. "I have been so long withoutyou. "

"No, mamma, I am not going East. I can get suitable employment here inthe city of P----. "

"But, Iola, " said Robert, "you have tried, and been defeated. Whysubject yourself to the same experience again?"

"Uncle Robert, I think that every woman should have some skill or artwhich would insure her at least a comfortable support. I believe therewould be less unhappy marriages if labor were more honored among women. "

"Well, Iola, " said her mother, "what is your skill?"

"Nursing. I was very young when I went into the hospital, but Isucceeded so well that the doctor said I must have been a born nurse. Now, I see by the papers, that a gentleman who has an invalid daughterwants some one who can be a nurse and companion for her, and I mean toapply for the situation. I do not think, if I do my part well in thatposition, that the blood in my veins will be any bar to my success. "

A troubled look stole over Marie's face. She sighed faintly, but made noremonstrance. And so it was decided that Iola should apply for thesituation. 

Iola made application, and was readily accepted. Her patient was a frailgirl of fifteen summers, who was ill with a low fever. Iola nursed hercarefully, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing her restored tohealth. During her stay, Mr. Cloten, the father of the invalid, hadlearned some of the particulars of Iola's Northern experience as abread-winner, and he resolved to give her employment in his store whenher services were no longer needed in the house. As soon as a vacancyoccurred he gave Iola a place in his store. 

The morning she entered on her work he called his employés together, andtold them that Miss Iola had colored blood in her veins, but that he wasgoing to employ her and give her a desk. If any one objected to workingwith her, he or she could step to the cashier's desk and receive whatwas due. Not a man remonstrated, not a woman demurred; and Iola at lastfound a place in the great army of bread-winners, which the traditionsof her blood could not affect. 

"How did you succeed?" asked Mrs. Cloten of her husband, when hereturned to dinner. 

"Admirably! 'Everything is lovely and the goose hangs high. ' I gave myemployés to understand that they could leave if they did not wish towork with Miss Leroy. Not one of them left, or showed any dispositionto rebel. "

"I am very glad, " said Mrs. Cloten. "I am ashamed of the way she has beentreated in our city, when seeking to do her share in the world's work. Iam glad that you were brave enough to face this cruel prejudice, andgive her a situation. "

"Well, my dear, do not make me a hero for a single act. I am gratefulfor the care Miss Leroy gave our Daisy. Money can buy services, but itcannot purchase tender, loving sympathy. I was also determined to let myemployés know that I, not they, commanded my business. So, do not crownme a hero until I have won a niche in the temple of fame. In dealingwith Southern prejudice against the negro, we Northerners could do itwith better grace if we divested ourselves of our own. We irritate theSouth by our criticisms, and, while I confess that there is much that isreprehensible in their treatment of colored people, yet if our Northerncivilization is higher than theirs we should 'criticise by creation. ' Weshould stamp ourselves on the South, and not let the South stamp itselfon us. When we have learned to treat men according to the complexion oftheir souls, and not the color of their skins, we will have given ourbest contribution towards the solution of the negro problem. "

"I feel, my dear, " said Mrs. Cloten, "that what you have done is a rightstep in the right direction, and I hope that other merchants will do thesame. We have numbers of business men, rich enough to afford themselvesthe luxury of a good conscience. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

AN OLD FRIEND. 

"Good-morning, Miss Leroy, " said a cheery voice in tones of gladsurprise, and, intercepting her path, Dr. Gresham stood before Iola, smiling, and reaching out his hand. 

"Why, Dr. Gresham, is this you?" said Iola, lifting her eyes to thatwell-remembered face. "It has been several years since we met. How haveyou been all this time, and where?"

"I have been sick, and am just now recovering from malaria and nervousprostration. I am attending a medical convention in this city, and hopethat I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again. "

Iola hesitated, and then replied: "I should be pleased to have youcall. "

"It would give me great pleasure. Where shall I call?"

"My home is 1006 South Street, but I am only at home in the evenings. "

They walked together a short distance till they reached Mr. Cloten'sstore; then, bidding the doctor good morning, Iola left him repeating tohimself the words of his favorite poet:--

 "Thou art too lovely and precious a gem To be bound to their burdens and sullied by them. "

No one noticed the deep flush on Iola's face as she entered the store, nor the subdued, quiet manner with which she applied herself to hertasks. She was living over again the past, with its tender, sad, andthrilling reminiscences. 

In the evening Dr. Gresham called on Iola. She met him with a pleasantwelcome. Dr. Gresham gazed upon her with unfeigned admiration, andthought that the years, instead of detracting from, had onlyintensified, her loveliness. He had thought her very beautiful in thehospital, in her gray dress and white collar, with her glorious wealthof hair drawn over her ears. But now, when he saw her with that hairartistically arranged, and her finely-proportioned form arrayed in adark crimson dress, relieved by a shimmer of lace and a bow of whiteribbon at her throat, he thought her superbly handsome. The lines whichcare had written upon her young face had faded away. There was noundertone of sorrow in her voice as she stood up before him in the calmloveliness of her ripened womanhood, radiant in beauty and gifted inintellect. Time and failing health had left their traces upon Dr. Gresham. His step was less bounding, his cheek a trifle paler, hismanner somewhat graver than it was when he had parted from Iola in thehospital, but his meeting with her had thrilled his heart withunexpected pleasure. Hopes and sentiments which long had slept awoke atthe touch of her hand and the tones of her voice, and Dr. Gresham foundhimself turning to the past, with its sad memories and disappointedhopes. No other face had displaced her image in his mind; no other lovehad woven itself around every tendril of his soul. His heart and handwere just as free as they were the hour they had parted. 

"To see you again, " said Dr. Gresham, "is a great and unexpectedpleasure. "

"You had not forgotten me, then?" said Iola, smiling. 

"Forget you! I would just as soon forget my own existence. I do notthink that time will ever efface the impressions of those days in whichwe met so often. When last we met you were intending to search for yourmother. Have you been successful?"

"More than successful, " said Iola, with a joyous ring in her voice. "Ihave found my mother, brother, grandmother, and uncle, and, except mybrother, we are all living together, and we are so happy. Excuse me afew minutes, " she said, and left the room. Iola soon returned, bringingwith her her mother and grandmother. 

"These, " said Iola, introducing her mother and grandmother, "are theonce-severed branches of our family; and this gentleman you have seenbefore, " continued Iola, as Robert entered the room. 

Dr. Gresham looked scrutinizingly at him and said: "Your face looksfamiliar, but I saw so many faces at the hospital that I cannot just nowrecall your name. "

"Doctor, " said Robert Johnson, "I was one of your last patients, and Iwas with Tom Anderson when he died. "

"Oh, yes, " replied Dr. Gresham; "it all comes back to me. You werewounded at the battle of Five Forks, were you not?"

"Yes, " said Robert. 

"I saw you when you were recovering. You told me that you thought youhad a clue to your lost relatives, from whom you had been so longseparated. How have you succeeded?"

"Admirably! I have been fortunate in finding my mother, my sister, andher children. "

"Ah, indeed! I am delighted to hear it. Where are they?"

"They are right here. This is my mother, " said Robert, bending fondlyover her, as she returned his recognition with an expression of intensesatisfaction; "and this, " he continued, "is my sister, and Miss Leroy ismy niece. "

"Is it possible? I am very glad to hear it. It has been said that everycloud has its silver lining, and the silver lining of our war cloud isthe redemption of a race and the reunion of severed hearts. War is adreadful thing; but worse than the war was the slavery which precededit. "

"Slavery, " said Iola, "was a fearful cancer eating into the nation'sheart, sapping its vitality, and undermining its life. "

"And war, " said Dr. Gresham, "was the dreadful surgery by which thedisease was eradicated. The cancer has been removed, but for years tocome I fear that we will have to deal with the effects of the disease. But I believe that we have vitality enough to outgrow those effects. "

"I think, Doctor, " said Iola, "that there is but one remedy by which ournation can recover from the evil entailed upon her by slavery. "

"What is that?" asked Robert. 

"A fuller comprehension of the claims of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, andtheir application to our national life. "

"Yes, " said Robert; "while politicians are stumbling on the barrenmountains of fretful controversy and asking what shall we do with thenegro? I hold that Jesus answered that question nearly two thousandyears ago when he said, 'Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them. '"

"Yes, " said Dr. Gresham; "the application of that rule in dealing withthe negro would solve the whole problem. "

"Slavery, " said Mrs. Leroy, "is dead, but the spirit which animated itstill lives; and I think that a reckless disregard for human life ismore the outgrowth of slavery than any actual hatred of the negro. "

"The problem of the nation, " continued Dr. Gresham, "is not what menwill do with the negro, but what will they do with the reckless, lawlesswhite men who murder, lynch and burn their fellow-citizens. To me theselynchings and burnings are perfectly alarming. Both races have reactedon each other--men fettered the slave and cramped their own souls;denied him knowledge, and darkened their spiritual insight; subdued himto the pliancy of submission, and in their turn became the thralls ofpublic opinion. The negro came here from the heathenism of Africa; butthe young colonies could not take into their early civilization a streamof barbaric blood without being affected by its influence and the negro, poor and despised as he is, has laid his hands on our Southerncivilization and helped mould its character. "

"Yes, " said Mrs. Leroy; "the colored nurse could not nestle her master'schild in her arms, hold up his baby footsteps on their floors, and walkwith him through the impressible and formative period of his young lifewithout leaving upon him the impress of her hand. "

"I am glad, " said Robert, "for the whole nation's sake, that slaveryhas been destroyed. "

"And our work, " said Dr. Gresham, "is to build over the desolations ofthe past a better and brighter future. The great distinction betweensavagery and civilization is the creation and maintenance of law. A people cannot habitually trample on law and justice withoutretrograding toward barbarism. But I am hopeful that time will bring uschanges for the better; that, as we get farther away from the war, wewill outgrow the animosities and prejudices engendered by slavery. Theshort-sightedness of our fathers linked the negro's destiny to ours. Weare feeling the friction of the ligatures which bind us together, but Ihope that the time will speedily come when the best members of bothraces will unite for the maintenance of law and order and the progressand prosperity of the country, and that the intelligence and virtue ofthe South will be strong to grapple effectually with its ignorance andvice. "

"I hope that time will speedily come, " said Marie. "My son is in theSouth, and I am always anxious for his safety. He is not only a teacher, but a leading young man in the community where he lives. "

"Yes, " said Robert, "and when I see the splendid work he is doing in theSouth, I am glad that, instead of trying to pass for a white man, he hascast his lot with us. "

"But, " answered Dr. Gresham, "he would possess advantages as a white manwhich he could not if he were known to be colored. "

"Doctor, " said Iola, decidedly, "he has greater advantages as a coloredman. "

"I do not understand you, " said Dr. Gresham, looking somewhat puzzled. 

"Doctor, " continued Iola, "I do not think life's highest advantages arethose that we can see with our eyes or grasp with our hands. To whomto-day is the world most indebted--to its millionaires or to itsmartyrs?"

"Taking it from the ideal standpoint, " replied the doctor, "I should sayits martyrs. "

"To be, " continued Iola, "the leader of a race to higher planes ofthought and action, to teach men clearer views of life and duty, and toinspire their souls with loftier aims, is a far greater privilege thanit is to open the gates of material prosperity and fill every home withsensuous enjoyment. "

"And I, " said Mrs. Leroy, her face aglow with fervid feeling, "wouldrather--ten thousand times rather--see Harry the friend and helper ofthe poor and ignorant than the companion of men who, under the cover ofnight, mask their faces and ride the country on lawless raids. "

"Dr. Gresham, " said Robert, "we ought to be the leading nation of theearth, whose influence and example should give light to the world. "

"Not simply, " said Iola, "a nation building up a great materialprosperity, founding magnificent cities, grasping the commerce of theworld, or excelling in literature, art, and science, but a nationwearing sobriety as a crown and righteousness as the girdle of herloins. "

Dr. Gresham gazed admiringly upon Iola. A glow of enthusiasm overspreadher beautiful, expressive face. There was a rapt and far-off look in hereye, as if she were looking beyond the present pain to a brighterfuture for the race with which she was identified, and felt thegrandeur of a divine commission to labor for its uplifting. 

As Dr. Gresham was parting with Robert, he said: "This meeting has beena very unexpected pleasure. I have spent a delightful evening. I onlyregret that I had not others to share it with me. A doctor from theSouth, a regular Bourbon, is stopping at the hotel. I wish he could havebeen here to-night. Come down to the Concordia, Mr. Johnson, to-morrownight. If you know any colored man who is a strong champion of equalrights, bring him along. Good-night. I shall look for you, " said thedoctor, as he left the door. 

When Robert returned to the parlor he said to Iola: "Dr. Gresham hasinvited me to come to his hotel to-morrow night, and to bring somewide-awake colored man with me. There is a Southerner whom he wishes meto meet. I suppose he wants to discuss the negro problem, as they callit. He wants some one who can do justice to the subject. I wonder whom Ican take with me?"

"I will tell you who, I think, will be a capital one to take with you, and I believe he would go, " said Iola. 

"Who?" asked Robert. 

"Rev. Carmicle, your pastor. "

"He is just the one, " said Robert, "courteous in his manner and veryscholarly in his attainments. He is a man whom if everybody hated him noone could despise him. "

CHAPTER XXVI. 

OPEN QUESTIONS. 

In the evening Robert and Rev. Carmicle called on Dr. Gresham, and foundDr. Latrobe, the Southerner, and a young doctor by the name of Latimer, already there. Dr. Gresham introduced Dr. Latrobe, but it was a newexperience to receive colored men socially. His wits, however, did notforsake him, and he received the introduction and survived it. 

"Permit me, now, " said Dr. Gresham, "to introduce you to my friend, Dr. Latimer, who is attending our convention. He expects to go South andlabor among the colored people. Don't you think that there is a largefield of usefulness before him?"

"Yes, " replied Dr. Latrobe, "if he will let politics alone. "

"And why let politics alone?" asked Dr. Gresham. 

"Because, " replied Dr. Latrobe, "we Southerners will never submit tonegro supremacy. We will never abandon our Caucasian civilization to aninferior race. "

"Have you any reason, " inquired Rev. Carmicle, "to dread that a racewhich has behind it the heathenism of Africa and the slavery of America, with its inheritance of ignorance and poverty, will be able, in lessthan one generation, to domineer over a race which has behind it ages ofdominion, freedom, education, and Christianity?"

A slight shade of vexation and astonishment passed over the face of Dr. Latrobe. He hesitated a moment, then replied:--

"I am not afraid of the negro as he stands alone, but what I dread isthat in some closely-contested election ambitious men will use him tohold the balance of power and make him an element of danger. He isignorant, poor, and clannish, and they may impact him as their policywould direct. "

"Any more, " asked Robert, "than the leaders of the Rebellion did theignorant, poor whites during our late conflict?"

"Ignorance, poverty, and clannishness, " said Dr. Gresham, "are moresocial than racial conditions, which may be outgrown. "

"And I think, " said Rev. Carmicle, "that we are outgrowing them as fastas any other people would have done under the same conditions. "

"The negro, " replied Dr. Latrobe, "always has been and always will be anelement of discord in our country. "

"What, then, is your remedy?" asked Dr. Gresham. 

"I would eliminate him from the politics of the country. "

"As disfranchisement is a punishment for crime, is it just to punish aman before he transgresses the law?" asked Dr. Gresham. 

"If, " said Dr. Latimer, "the negro is ignorant, poor, and clannish, letus remember that in part of our land it was once a crime to teach him toread. If he is poor, for ages he was forced to bend to unrequited toil. If he is clannish, society has segregated him to himself. "

"And even, " said Robert, "has given him a negro pew in your churchesand a negro seat at your communion table. "

"Wisely, or unwisely, " said Dr. Gresham, "the Government has put theballot in his hands. It is better to teach him to use that ballot arightthan to intimidate him by violence or vitiate his vote by fraud. "

"To-day, " said Dr. Latimer, "the negro is not plotting in beer-saloonsagainst the peace and order of society. His fingers are not drippingwith dynamite, neither is he spitting upon your flag, nor flaunting thered banner of anarchy in your face. "

"Power, " said Dr. Gresham, "naturally gravitates into the strongesthands. The class who have the best brain and most wealth can strike withthe heaviest hand. I have too much faith in the inherent power of thewhite race to dread the competition of any other people under heaven. "

"I think you Northerners fail to do us justice, " said Dr. Latrobe. "Themen into whose hands you put the ballot were our slaves, and we wouldrather die than submit to them. Look at the carpet-bag governments thewicked policy of the Government inflicted upon us. It was only done tohumiliate us. "

"Oh, no!" said Dr. Gresham, flushing, and rising to his feet. "We had noother alternative than putting the ballot in their hands. "

"I will not deny, " said Rev. Carmicle, "that we have made woefulmistakes, but with our antecedents it would have been miraculous if wehad never committed any mistakes or made any blunders. "

"They were allies in war, " continued Dr. Gresham, "and I am sorry thatwe have not done more to protect them in peace. "

"Protect them in peace!" said Robert, bitterly. "What protection doesthe colored man receive from the hands of the Government? I know of nocivilized country outside of America where men are still burned for realor supposed crimes. "

"Johnson, " said Dr. Gresham, compassionately, "it is impossible to havea policeman at the back of each colored man's chair, and a squad ofsoldiers at each crossroad, to detect with certainty, and punish withcelerity, each invasion of his rights. We tried provisional governmentsand found them a failure. It seemed like leaving our former allies to bemocked with the name of freedom and tortured with the essence ofslavery. The ballot is our weapon of defense, and we gave it to them fortheirs. "

"And there, " said Dr. Latrobe, emphatically, "is where you signallyfailed. We are numerically stronger in Congress to-day than when we wentout. You made the law, but the administration of it is in our hands, andwe are a unit. "

"But, Doctor, " said Rev. Carmicle, "you cannot willfully deprive thenegro of a single right as a citizen without sending demoralizationthrough your own ranks. "

"I think, " said Dr. Latrobe, "that we are right in suppressing thenegro's vote. This is a white man's government, and a white man'scountry. We own nineteen-twentieths of the land, and have about the sameratio of intelligence. I am a white man, and, right or wrong, I go withmy race. "

"But, Doctor, " said Rev. Carmicle, "there are rights more sacred thanthe rights of property and superior intelligence. "

"What are they?" asked Dr. Latrobe. 

"The rights of life and liberty, " replied Rev. Carmicle. 

"That is true, " said Dr. Gresham; "and your Southern civilization willbe inferior until you shall have placed protection to those rights atits base, not in theory but in fact. "

"But, Dr. Gresham, we have to live with these people, and the North isconstantly irritating us by its criticisms. "

"The world, " said Dr. Gresham, "is fast becoming a vast whisperinggallery, and lips once sealed can now state their own grievances andappeal to the conscience of the nation, and, as long as a sense ofjustice and mercy retains a hold upon the heart of our nation, youcannot practice violence and injustice without rousing a spirit ofremonstrance. And if it were not so I would be ashamed of my country andof my race. "

"You speak, " said Dr. Latrobe, "as if we had wronged the negro byenslaving him and being unwilling to share citizenship with him. I thinkthat slavery has been of incalculable value to the negro. It has liftedhim out of barbarism and fetich worship, given him a language ofcivilization, and introduced him to the world's best religion. Thinkwhat he was in Africa and what he is in America!"

"The negro, " said Dr. Gresham, thoughtfully, "is not the only branch ofthe human race which has been low down in the scale of civilization andfreedom, and which has outgrown the measure of his chains. Slavery, polygamy, and human sacrifices have been practiced among Europeans inby-gone days; and when Tyndall tells us that out of savages unable tocount to the number of their fingers and speaking only a language ofnouns and verbs, arise at length our Newtons and Shakspeares, I do notsee that the negro could not have learned our language and received ourreligion without the intervention of ages of slavery. "

"If, " said Rev. Carmicle, "Mohammedanism, with its imperfect creed, issuccessful in gathering large numbers of negroes beneath the Crescent, could not a legitimate commerce and the teachings of a pure Christianityhave done as much to plant the standard of the Cross over the rampartsof sin and idolatry in Africa? Surely we cannot concede that the lightof the Crescent is greater than the glory of the Cross, that there isless constraining power in the Christ of Calvary than in the Prophet ofArabia? I do not think that I underrate the difficulties in your waywhen I say that you young men are holding in your hands goldenopportunities which it would be madness and folly to throw away. It isyour grand opportunity to help build up a new South, not on the shiftingsands of policy and expediency, but on the broad basis of equal justiceand universal freedom. Do this and you will be blessed, and will makeyour life a blessing. "

After Robert and Rev. Carmicle had left the hotel, Drs. Latimer, Gresham, and Latrobe sat silent and thoughtful awhile, when Dr. Greshambroke the silence by asking Dr. Latrobe how he had enjoyed the evening. 

"Very pleasantly, " he replied. "I was quite interested in that parson. Where was he educated?"

"In Oxford, I believe. I was pleased to hear him say that he had nowhite blood in his veins. "

"I should think not, " replied Dr. Latrobe, "from his looks. But oneswallow does not make a summer. It is the exceptions which prove therule. "

"Don't you think, " asked Dr. Gresham, "that we have been too hasty inour judgment of the negro? He has come handicapped into life, and is nowon trial before the world. But it is not fair to subject him to the sametests that you would a white man. I believe that there are possibilitiesof growth in the race which we have never comprehended. "

"The negro, " said Dr. Latrobe, "is perfectly comprehensible to me. Theonly way to get along with him is to let him know his place, and makehim keep it. "

"I think, " replied Dr. Gresham, "every man's place is the one he is bestfitted for. "

"Why, " asked Dr. Latimer, "should any place be assigned to the negromore than to the French, Irish, or German?"

"Oh, " replied Dr. Latrobe, "they are all Caucasians. "

"Well, " said Dr. Gresham, "is all excellence summed up in that branch ofthe human race?"

"I think, " said Dr. Latrobe, proudly, "that we belong to the highestrace on earth and the negro to the lowest. "

"And yet, " said Dr. Latimer, "you have consorted with them till you havebleached their faces to the whiteness of your own. Your children nestlein their bosoms; they are around you as body servants, and yet if one ofthem should attempt to associate with you your bitterest scorn andindignation would be visited upon them. "

"I think, " said Dr. Latrobe, "that feeling grows out of our Anglo-Saxonregard for the marriage relation. These white negroes are ofillegitimate origin, and we would scorn to share our social life withthem. Their blood is tainted. "

"Who tainted it?" asked Dr. Latimer, bitterly. "You give absolution tothe fathers, and visit the misfortunes of the mothers upon thechildren. "

"But, Doctor, what kind of society would we have if we put down the barsand admitted everybody to social equality?"

"This idea of social equality, " said Dr. Latimer, "is only a bugbearwhich frightens well-meaning people from dealing justly with the negro. I know of no place on earth where there is perfect social equality, andI doubt if there is such a thing in heaven. The sinner who repents onhis death-bed cannot be the equal of St. Paul or the Beloved Disciple. "

"Doctor, " said Dr. Gresham, "I sometimes think that the final solutionof this question will be the absorption of the negro into our race. "

"Never! never!" exclaimed Dr. Latrobe, vehemently. "It would be a deathblow to American civilization. "

"Why, Doctor, " said Dr. Latimer, "you Southerners began this absorptionbefore the war. I understand that in one decade the mixed bloods rosefrom one-ninth to one-eighth of the population, and that as early as1663 a law was passed in Maryland to prevent English women fromintermarrying with slaves; and, even now, your laws againstmiscegenation presuppose that you apprehend danger from that source. "

"Doctor, it is no use talking, " replied Dr. Latrobe, wearily. "Thereare niggers who are as white as I am, but the taint of blood is thereand we always exclude it. "

"How do you know it is there?" asked Dr. Gresham. 

"Oh, there are tricks of blood which always betray them. My eyes aremore practiced than yours. I can always tell them. Now, that Johnson isas white as any man; but I knew he was a nigger the moment I saw him. Isaw it in his eye. "

Dr. Latimer smiled at Dr. Latrobe's assertion, but did not attempt torefute it; and bade him good-night. 

"I think, " said Dr. Latrobe, "that our war was the great mistake of thenineteenth century. It has left us very serious complications. We cannotamalgamate with the negroes. We cannot expatriate them. Now, what are weto do with them?"

"Deal justly with them, " said Dr. Gresham, "and let them alone. Try tocreate a moral sentiment in the nation, which will consider a wrong doneto the weakest of them as a wrong done to the whole community. Wheneveryou find ministers too righteous to be faithless, cowardly, and timeserving; women too Christly to be scornful; and public men too noble tobe tricky and too honest to pander to the prejudices of the people, stand by them and give them your moral support. "

"Doctor, " said Latrobe, "with your views you ought to be a preacherstriving to usher in the millennium. "

"It can't come too soon, " replied Dr. Gresham. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

DIVERGING PATHS. 

On the eve of his departure from the city of P----, Dr. Gresham calledon Iola, and found her alone. They talked awhile of reminiscences of thewar and hospital life, when Dr. Gresham, approaching Iola, said:--

"Miss Leroy, I am glad the great object of your life is accomplished, and that you have found all your relatives. Years have passed since weparted, years in which I have vainly tried to get a trace of you andhave been baffled, but I have found you at last!" Clasping her hand inhis, he continued, "I would it were so that I should never lose youagain! Iola, will you not grant me the privilege of holding this hand asmine all through the future of our lives? Your search for your mother isended. She is well cared for. Are you not free at last to share with memy Northern home, free to be mine as nothing else on earth is mine. " Dr. Gresham looked eagerly on Iola's face, and tried to read its varyingexpression. "Iola, I learned to love you in the hospital. I have triedto forget you, but it has been all in vain. Your image is just as deeplyengraven on my heart as it was the day we parted. "

"Doctor, " she replied, sadly, but firmly, as she withdrew her hand fromhis, "I feel now as I felt then, that there is an insurmountable barrierbetween us. "

"What is it, Iola?" asked Dr. Gresham, anxiously. 

"It is the public opinion which assigns me a place with the coloredpeople. "

"But what right has public opinion to interfere with our marriagerelations? Why should we yield to its behests?"

"Because it is stronger than we are, and we cannot run counter to itwithout suffering its penalties. "

"And what are they, Iola? Shadows that you merely dread?"

"No! no! the penalties of social ostracism North and South, except hereand there some grand and noble exceptions. I do not think that you fullyrealize how much prejudice against colored people permeates society, lowers the tone of our religion, and reacts upon the life of the nation. After freedom came, mamma was living in the city of A----, and wanted tounite with a Christian church there. She made application formembership. She passed her examination as a candidate, and was receivedas a church member. When she was about to make her first communion, sheunintentionally took her seat at the head of the column. The elder whowas administering the communion gave her the bread in the order in whichshe sat, but before he gave her the wine some one touched him on theshoulder and whispered a word in his ear. He then passed mamma by, gavethe cup to others, and then returned to her. From that rite connectedwith the holiest memories of earth, my poor mother returned humiliatedand depressed. "

"What a shame!" exclaimed Dr. Gresham, indignantly. 

"I have seen, " continued Iola, "the same spirit manifested in the North. Mamma once attempted to do missionary work in this city. One day shefound an outcast colored girl, whom she wished to rescue. She took herto an asylum for fallen women and made an application for her, but wasrefused. Colored girls were not received there. Soon after mamma foundamong the colored people an outcast white girl. Mamma's sympathies, unfettered by class distinction, were aroused in her behalf, and, incompany with two white ladies, she went with the girl to that samerefuge. For her the door was freely opened and admittance readilygranted. It was as if two women were sinking in the quicksands, and onthe solid land stood other women with life-lines in their hands, seeingthe deadly sands slowly creeping up around the hapless victims. To onethey readily threw the lines of deliverance, but for the other there wasnot one strand of salvation. Sometime since, to the same asylum, came apoor fallen girl who had escaped from the clutches of a wicked woman. For her the door would have been opened, had not the vile woman fromwhom she was escaping followed her to that place of refuge and revealedthe fact that she belonged to the colored race. That fact was enough toclose the door upon her, and to send her back to sin and to suffer, andperhaps to die as a wretched outcast. And yet in this city where anumber of charities are advertised, I do not think there is one of themwhich, in appealing to the public, talks more religion than the managersof this asylum. This prejudice against the colored race environs ourlives and mocks our aspirations. "

"Iola, I see no use in your persisting that you are colored when youreyes are as blue and complexion as white as mine. "

"Doctor, were I your wife, are there not people who would caress me asa white woman who would shrink from me in scorn if they knew I had onedrop of negro blood in my veins? When mistaken for a white woman, Ishould hear things alleged against the race at which my blood wouldboil. No, Doctor, I am not willing to live under a shadow of concealmentwhich I thoroughly hate as if the blood in my veins were an undetectedcrime of my soul. "

"Iola, dear, surely you paint the picture too darkly. "

"Doctor, I have painted it with my heart's blood. It is easier tooutgrow the dishonor of crime than the disabilities of color. You havecreated in this country an aristocracy of color wide enough to includethe South with its treason and Utah with its abominations, but toonarrow to include the best and bravest colored man who bared his breastto the bullets of the enemy during your fratricidal strife. Is not themost arrant Rebel to-day more acceptable to you than the most faithfulcolored man?"

"No! no!" exclaimed Dr. Gresham, vehemently. "You are wrong. I belong tothe Grand Army of the Republic. We have no separate State Posts for thecolored people, and, were such a thing proposed, the majority of ourmembers, I believe, would be against it. In Congress colored men havethe same seats as white men, and the color line is slowly fading out inour public institutions. "

"But how is it in the Church?" asked Iola. 

"The Church is naturally conservative. It preserves old truths, even ifit is somewhat slow in embracing new ideas. It has its social as well asits spiritual side. Society is woman's realm. The majority of churchmembers are women, who are said to be the aristocratic element of ourcountry. I fear that one of the last strongholds of this racialprejudice will be found beneath the shadow of some of our churches. Ithink, on account of this social question, that large bodies ofChristian temperance women and other reformers, in trying to reach thecolored people even for their own good, will be quicker to formseparate associations than our National Grand Army, whose ranks are opento black and white, liberals and conservatives, saints and agnostics. But, Iola, we have drifted far away from the question. No one has aright to interfere with our marriage if we do not infringe on the rightsof others. "

"Doctor, " she replied, gently, "I feel that our paths must diverge. Mylife-work is planned. I intend spending my future among the coloredpeople of the South. "

"My dear friend, " he replied, anxiously, "I am afraid that you aredestined to sad disappointment. When the novelty wears off you will bedisillusioned, and, I fear, when the time comes that you can no longerserve them they will forget your services and remember only yourfailings. "

"But, Doctor, they need me; and I am sure when I taught among them theywere very grateful for my services. "

"I think, " he replied, "these people are more thankful than grateful. "

"I do not think so; and if I did it would not hinder me from doing allin my power to help them. I do not expect all the finest traits ofcharacter to spring from the hot-beds of slavery and caste. What mattersit if they do forget the singer, so they don't forget the song? No, Doctor, I don't think that I could best serve my race by forsaking themand marrying you. "

"Iola, " he exclaimed, passionately, "if you love your race, as you callit, work for it, live for it, suffer for it, and, if need be, die forit; but don't marry for it. Your education has unfitted you for sociallife among them. "

"It was, " replied Iola, "through their unrequited toil that I waseducated, while they were compelled to live in ignorance. I am indebtedto them for the power I have to serve them. I wish other Southern womenfelt as I do. I think they could do so much to help the colored peopleat their doors if they would look at their opportunities in the light ofthe face of Jesus Christ. Nor am I wholly unselfish in allying myselfwith the colored people. All the rest of my family have done so. My deargrandmother is one of the excellent of the earth, and we all love hertoo much to ignore our relationship with her. I did not choose my lot inlife, and the simplest thing I can do is to accept the situation and dothe best I can. "

"And is this your settled purpose?" he asked, sadly. 

"It is, Doctor, " she replied, tenderly but firmly. "I see no other. Imust serve the race which needs me most. "

"Perhaps you are right, " he replied; "but I cannot help feeling sad thatour paths, which met so pleasantly, should diverge so painfully. Andyet, not only the freedmen, but the whole country, need such helpful, self-sacrificing teachers as you will prove; and if earnest prayers andholy wishes can brighten your path, your lines will fall in thepleasantest places. "

As he rose to go, sympathy, love, and admiration were blended in theparting look he gave her; but he felt it was useless to attempt todivert her from her purpose. He knew that for the true reconstruction ofthe country something more was needed than bayonets and bullets, or theschemes of selfish politicians or plotting demagogues. He knew that theSouth needed the surrender of the best brain and heart of the country tobuild, above the wastes of war, more stately temples of thought andaction. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

DR. LATROBE'S MISTAKE. 

On the morning previous to their departure for their respective homes, Dr. Gresham met Dr. Latrobe in the parlor of the Concordia. 

"How, " asked Dr. Gresham, "did you like Dr. Latimer's paper?"

"Very much, indeed. It was excellent. He is a very talented young man. He sits next to me at lunch and I have conversed with him several times. He is very genial and attractive, only he seems to be rather cranky onthe negro question. I hope if he comes South that he will not make themistake of mixing up with the negroes. It would be throwing away hisinfluence and ruining his prospects. He seems to be well versed inscience and literature and would make a very delightful accession to oursocial life. "

"I think, " replied Dr. Gresham, "that he is an honor to our profession. He is one of the finest specimens of our young manhood. "

Just then Dr. Latimer entered the room. Dr. Latrobe arose and, greetinghim cordially, said: "I was delighted with your paper; it was full ofthought and suggestion. "

"Thank you, " answered Dr. Latimer, "it was my aim to make it so. "

"And you succeeded admirably, " replied Dr. Latrobe. "I could not helpthinking how much we owe to heredity and environment. "

"Yes, " said Dr. Gresham. "Continental Europe yearly sends to our shoressubjects to be developed into citizens. Emancipation has given usmillions of new citizens, and to them our influence and example shouldbe a blessing and not a curse. "

"Well, " said Dr. Latimer, "I intend to go South, and help those who somuch need helpers from their own ranks. "

"I hope, " answered Dr. Latrobe, "that if you go South you will onlysustain business relations with the negroes, and not commit the folly ofequalizing yourself with them. "

"Why not?" asked Dr. Latimer, steadily looking him in the eye. 

"Because in equalizing yourself with them you drag us down; and oursocial customs must be kept intact. "

"You have been associating with me at the convention for several days; Ido not see that the contact has dragged you down, has it?"

"You! What has that got to do with associating with niggers?" asked Dr. Latrobe, curtly. 

"The blood of that race is coursing through my veins. I am one of them, "replied Dr. Latimer, proudly raising his head. 

"You!" exclaimed Dr. Latrobe, with an air of profound astonishment andcrimsoning face. 

"Yes;" interposed Dr. Gresham, laughing heartily at Dr. Latrobe'sdiscomfiture. "He belongs to that negro race both by blood and choice. His father's mother made overtures to receive him as her grandson andheir, but he has nobly refused to forsake his mother's people and hascast his lot with them. "

"And I, " said Dr. Latimer, "would have despised myself if I had doneotherwise. "

"Well, well, " said Dr. Latrobe, rising, "I was never so deceived before. Good morning!"

Dr. Latrobe had thought he was clear-sighted enough to detect thepresence of negro blood when all physical traces had disappeared. But hehad associated with Dr. Latimer for several days, and admired histalent, without suspecting for one moment his racial connection. Hecould not help feeling a sense of vexation at the signal mistake he hadmade. 

Dr. Frank Latimer was the natural grandson of a Southern lady, in whosefamily his mother had been a slave. The blood of a proud aristocraticancestry was flowing through his veins, and generations of bloodadmixture had effaced all trace of his negro lineage. His complexion wasblonde, his eye bright and piercing, his lips firm and well moulded; hismanner very affable; his intellect active and well stored withinformation. He was a man capable of winning in life through his richgifts of inheritance and acquirements. When freedom came, his mother, like Hagar of old, went out into the wide world to seek a living forherself and child. Through years of poverty she labored to educate herchild, and saw the glad fruition of her hopes when her son graduated asan M. D. From the University of P----. 

After his graduation he met his father's mother, who recognized him byhis resemblance to her dear, departed son. All the mother love in herlonely heart awoke, and she was willing to overlook "the missing link ofmatrimony, " and adopt him as her heir, if he would ignore his identitywith the colored race. 

Before him loomed all the possibilities which only birth and blood cangive a white man in our Democratic country. But he was a man of too muchsterling worth of character to be willing to forsake his mother's racefor the richest advantages his grandmother could bestow. 

Dr. Gresham had met Dr. Latimer at the beginning of the convention, andhad been attracted to him by his frank and genial manner. One morning, when conversing with him, Dr. Gresham had learned some of the salientpoints of his history, which, instead of repelling him, had onlydeepened his admiration for the young doctor. He was much amused when hesaw the pleasant acquaintanceship between him and Dr. Latrobe, but theyagreed to be silent about his racial connection until the time came whenthey were ready to divulge it; and they were hugely delighted at hissignal blunder. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

VISITORS FROM THE SOUTH. 

"Mamma is not well, " said Iola to Robert. "I spoke to her about sendingfor a doctor, but she objected and I did not insist. "

"I will ask Dr. Latimer, whom I met at the Concordia, to step in. He isa splendid young fellow. I wish we had thousands like him. "

In the evening the doctor called. Without appearing to make aprofessional visit he engaged Marie in conversation, watched hercarefully, and came to the conclusion that her failing health proceededmore from mental than physical causes. 

"I am so uneasy about Harry, " said Mrs. Leroy. "He is so fearless andoutspoken. I do wish the attention of the whole nation could be turnedto the cruel barbarisms which are a national disgrace. I think the term'bloody shirt' is one of the most heartless phrases ever invented todivert attention from cruel wrongs and dreadful outrages. "

Just then Iola came in and was introduced by her uncle to Dr. Latimer, to whom the introduction was a sudden and unexpected pleasure. 

After an interchange of courtesies, Marie resumed the conversation, saying: "Harry wrote me only last week that a young friend of his hadlost his situation because he refused to have his pupils strew flowerson the streets through which Jefferson Davis was to pass. "

"I think, " said Dr. Latimer, indignantly, "that the Israelites had justas much right to scatter flowers over the bodies of the Egyptians, whenthe waves threw back their corpses on the shores of the Red Sea, asthese children had to strew the path of Jefferson Davis with flowers. Wewant our boys to grow up manly citizens, and not cringing sycophants. When do you expect your son, Mrs. Leroy?"

"Some time next week, " answered Marie. 

"And his presence will do you more good than all the medicine in mychest. "

"I hope, Doctor, " said Mrs. Leroy, "that we will not lose sight of you, now that your professional visit is ended; for I believe your visit wasthe result of a conspiracy between Iola and her uncle. "

Dr. Latimer laughed, as he answered, "Ah, Mrs. Leroy, I see you havefound us all out. "

"Oh, Doctor, " exclaimed Iola, with pleasing excitement, "there is ayoung lady coming here to visit me next week. Her name is Miss LucilleDelany, and she is my ideal woman. She is grand, brave, intellectual, and religious. "

"Is that so? She would make some man an excellent wife, " replied Dr. Latimer. 

"Now isn't that perfectly manlike, " answered Iola, smiling. "Mamma, whatdo you think of that? Did any of you gentlemen ever see a young woman ofmuch ability that you did not look upon as a flotsam all adrift untilsome man had appropriated her?"

"I think, Miss Leroy, that the world's work, if shared, is better donethan when it is performed alone. Don't you think your life-work will bebetter done if some one shares it with you?" asked Dr. Latimer, slowly, and with a smile in his eyes. 

"That would depend on the person who shared it, " said Iola, faintlyblushing. 

"Here, " said Robert, a few evenings after this conversation, as hehanded Iola a couple of letters, "is something which will please you. "

Iola took the letters, and, after reading one of them, said: "MissDelany and Harry will be here on Wednesday; and this one is aninvitation which also adds to my enjoyment. "

"What is it?" asked Marie; "an invitation to a hop or a german?"

"No; but something which I value far more. We are all invited to Mr. Stillman's to a _conversazione_. "

"What is the object?"

"His object is to gather some of the thinkers and leaders of the race toconsult on subjects of vital interest to our welfare. He has invited Dr. Latimer, Professor Gradnor, of North Carolina, Mr. Forest, of New York, Hon. Dugdale, Revs. Carmicle, Cantnor, Tunster, Professor Langhorne, ofGeorgia, and a few ladies, Mrs. Watson, Miss Brown, and others. "

"I am glad that it is neither a hop nor a german, " said Iola, "butsomething for which I have been longing. "

"Why, Iola, " asked Robert, "don't you believe in young people having agood time?"

"Oh, yes, " answered Iola, seriously, "I believe in young people havingamusements and recreations; but the times are too serious for us toattempt to make our lives a long holiday. "

"Well, Iola, " answered Robert, "this is the first holiday we have hadin two hundred and fifty years, and you shouldn't be too exacting. "

"Yes, " replied Marie, "human beings naturally crave enjoyment, and ifnot furnished with good amusements they are apt to gravitate to lowpleasures. "

"Some one, " said Robert, "has said that the Indian belongs to an oldrace and looks gloomily back to the past, and that the negro belongs toa young race and looks hopefully towards the future. "

"If that be so, " replied Marie, "our race-life corresponds more to thefollies of youth than the faults of maturer years. "

On Dr. Latimer's next visit he was much pleased to see a great change inMarie's appearance. Her eye had grown brighter, her step more elastic, and the anxiety had faded from her face. Harry had arrived, and with himcame Miss Delany. 

"Good evening, Dr. Latimer, " said Iola, cheerily, as she entered theroom with Miss Lucille Delany. "This is my friend, Miss Delany, fromGeorgia. Were she not present I would say she is one of the grandestwomen in America. "

"I am very much pleased to meet you, " said Dr. Latimer, cordially; "Ihave heard Miss Leroy speak of you. We were expecting you, " he added, with a smile. 

Just then Harry entered the room, and Iola presented him to Dr. Latimer, saying, "This is my brother, about whom mamma was so anxious. "

"Had you a pleasant journey?" asked Dr. Latimer, after the firstgreetings were over. 

"Not especially, " answered Miss Delany. "Southern roads are not alwaysvery pleasant to travel. When Mr. Leroy entered the cars at A----, wherehe was known, had he taken his seat among the white people he would havebeen remanded to the colored. "

"But after awhile, " said Harry, "as Miss Delany and myself were sittingtogether, laughing and chatting, a colored man entered the car, and, mistaking me for a white man, asked the conductor to have me removed, and I had to insist that I was colored in order to be permitted toremain. It would be ludicrous, if it were not vexatious, to be too whiteto be black, and too black to be white. "

"Caste plays such fantastic tricks in this country, " said Dr. Latimer. 

"I tell Mr. Leroy, " said Miss Delany, "that when he returns he must puta label on himself, saying, 'I am a colored man, ' to prevent annoyance. "

CHAPTER XXX. 

FRIENDS IN COUNCIL. 

On the following Friday evening, Mr. Stillman's pleasant, spaciousparlors were filled to overflowing with a select company of earnest menand women deeply interested in the welfare of the race. 

Bishop Tunster had prepared a paper on "Negro Emigration. " Dr. Latimeropened the discussion by speaking favorably of some of the salientpoints, but said:--

"I do not believe self-exilement is the true remedy for the wrongs ofthe negro. Where should he go if he left this country?"

"Go to Africa, " replied Bishop Tunster, in his bluff, hearty tones. "Ibelieve that Africa is to be redeemed to civilization, and that thenegro is to be gathered into the family of nations and recognized as aman and a brother. "

"Go to Africa?" repeated Professor Langhorne, of Georgia. "Does theUnited States own one foot of African soil? And have we not beeninvesting our blood in the country for ages?"

"I am in favor of missionary efforts, " said Professor Gradnor, of NorthCarolina, "for the redemption of Africa, but I see no reason forexpatriating ourselves because some persons do not admire the color ofour skins. "

"I do not believe, " said Mr. Stillman, "in emptying on the shores ofAfrica a horde of ignorant, poverty-stricken people, as missionaries ofcivilization or Christianity. And while I am in favor of missionaryefforts, there is need here for the best heart and brain to work inunison for justice and righteousness. "

"America, " said Miss Delany, "is the best field for human development. God has not heaped up our mountains with such grandeur, flooded ourrivers with such majesty, crowned our valleys with such fertility, enriched our mines with such wealth, that they should only minister tograsping greed and sensuous enjoyment. "

"Climate, soil, and physical environments, " said Professor Gradnor, "have much to do with shaping national characteristics. If in Africa, under a tropical sun, the negro has lagged behind other races in themarch of civilization, at least for once in his history he has, in thiscountry, the privilege of using climatic advantages and developing undernew conditions. "

"Yes, " replied Dr. Latimer, "and I do not wish our people to becomerestless and unsettled before they have tried one generation offreedom. "

"I am always glad, " said Mr. Forest, a tall, distinguished-lookinggentleman from New York, "when I hear of people who are ill treated inone section of the country emigrating to another. Men who are deaf tothe claims of mercy, and oblivious to the demands of justice, can feelwhen money is slipping from their pockets. "

"The negro, " said Hon. Dugdale, "does not present to my mind the pictureof an effete and exhausted people, destined to die out before a strongerrace. Gilbert Haven once saw a statue which suggested this thought, 'Iam black, but comely; the sun has looked down upon me, but I will teachyou who despise me to feel that I am your superior. ' The men who areacquiring property and building up homes in the South show us whatenergy and determination may do even in that part of the country. Ibelieve such men can do more to conquer prejudice than if they spent alltheir lives in shouting for their rights and ignoring their duties. No!as there are millions of us in this country, I think it best to settledown and work out our own salvation here. "

"How many of us to-day, " asked Professor Langhorne, "would be teachingin the South, if every field of labor in the North was as accessible tous as to the whites? It has been estimated that a million young whitemen have left the South since the war, and, had our chances been equalto theirs, would we have been any more willing to stay in the South withthose who need us than they? But this prejudice, by impacting ustogether, gives us a common cause and brings our intellect in contactwith the less favored of our race. "

"I do not believe, " said Miss Delany, "that the Southern white peoplethemselves desire any wholesale exodus of the colored from their laborfields. It would be suicidal to attempt their expatriation. "

"History, " said Professor Langhorne, "tells that Spain was once theplace where barbarian Europe came to light her lamp. Seven hundred yearsbefore there was a public lamp in London you might have gone through thestreets of Cordova amid ten miles of lighted lamps, and stood there onsolidly paved land, when hundreds of years afterwards, in Paris, on arainy day you would have sunk to your ankles in the mud. But she whobore the name of the 'Terror of Nations, ' and the 'Queen of the Ocean, 'was not strong enough to dash herself against God's law of retributionand escape unscathed. She inaugurated a crusade of horror against amillion of her best laborers and artisans. Vainly she expected theblessing of God to crown her work of violence. Instead of seeing thefruition of her hopes in the increased prosperity of her land, depression and paralysis settled on her trade and business. A fearfulblow was struck at her agriculture; decay settled on her manufactories;money became too scarce to pay the necessary expenses of the king'sexchequer; and that once mighty empire became a fallen kingdom, piercedby her crimes and dragged down by her transgressions. "

"We did not, " said Iola, "place the bounds of our habitation. And Ibelieve we are to be fixtures in this country. But beyond the shadows Isee the coruscation of a brighter day; and we can help usher it in, notby answering hate with hate, or giving scorn for scorn, but by strivingto be more generous, noble, and just. It seems as if all creationtravels to respond to the song of the Herald angels, 'Peace on earth, good-will toward men. '"

The next paper was on "Patriotism, " by Rev. Cantnor. It was a paper inwhich the white man was extolled as the master race, and spoke as if itwere a privilege for the colored man to be linked to his destiny and tolive beneath the shadow of his power. He asserted that the white race ofthis country is the broadest, most Christian, and humane of that branchof the human family. 

Dr. Latimer took exception to his position. "Law, " he said, "is thepivot on which the whole universe turns; and obedience to law is thegauge by which a nation's strength or weakness is tried. We have had twoevils by which our obedience to law has been tested--slavery and theliquor traffic. How have we dealt with them both? We have been weighedin the balance and found wanting. Millions of slaves and serfs have beenliberated during this century, but not even in semi-barbaric Russia, heathen Japan, or Catholic Spain has slavery been abolished through sucha fearful conflict as it was in the United States. The liquor trafficstill sends its floods of ruin and shame to the habitations of men, andno political party has been found with enough moral power and numericalstrength to stay the tide of death. "

"I think, " said Professor Gradnor, "that what our country needs is truthmore than flattery. I do not think that our moral life keeps pace withour mental development and material progress. I know of no civilizedcountry on the globe, Catholic, Protestant, or Mohammedan, where life isless secure than it is in the South. Nearly eighteen hundred years agothe life of a Roman citizen in Palestine was in danger from mobviolence. That pagan government threw around him a wall of living clay, consisting of four hundred and seventy men, when more than forty Jewshad bound themselves with an oath that they would neither eat nor drinkuntil they had taken the life of the Apostle Paul. Does not truepatriotism demand that citizenship should be as much protected inChristian America as it was in heathen Rome?"

"I would have our people, " said Miss Delany, "more interested inpolitics. Instead of forgetting the past, I would have them hold ineverlasting remembrance our great deliverance. Hitherto we have neverhad a country with tender, precious memories to fill our eyes withtears, or glad reminiscences to thrill our hearts with pride and joy. Wehave been aliens and outcasts in the land of our birth. But I want mypupils to do all in their power to make this country worthy of theirdeepest devotion and loftiest patriotism. I want them to feel that itsglory is their glory, its dishonor their shame. "

"Our esteemed friend, Mrs. Watson, " said Iola, "sends regrets that shecannot come, but has kindly favored us with a poem, called the "RallyingCry. " In her letter she says that, although she is no longer young, shefeels that in the conflict for the right there's room for young as wellas old. She hopes that we will here unite the enthusiasm of youth withthe experience of age, and that we will have a pleasant and profitableconference. Is it your pleasure that the poem be read at this stage ofour proceedings, or later on?"

"Let us have it now, " answered Harry, "and I move that Miss Delany bechosen to lend to the poem the charm of her voice. "

"I second the motion, " said Iola, smiling, and handing the poem to MissDelany. 

Miss Delany took the poem and read it with fine effect. The spirit ofthe poem had entered her soul. 

 A RALLYING CRY. 

 Oh, children of the tropics, Amid our pain and wrong Have you no other mission Than music, dance, and song?

 When through the weary ages Our dripping tears still fall, Is this a time to dally With pleasure's silken thrall?

 Go, muffle all your viols; As heroes learn to stand, With faith in God's great justice Nerve every heart and hand. 

 Dream not of ease nor pleasure, Nor honor, wealth, nor fame, Till from the dust you've lifted Our long-dishonored name;

 And crowned that name with glory By deeds of holy worth, To shine with light emblazoned, The noblest name on earth. 

 Count life a dismal failure, Unblessing and unblest, That seeks 'mid ease inglorious For pleasure or for rest. 

 With courage, strength, and valor Your lives and actions brace; Shrink not from toil or hardship, And dangers bravely face. 

 Engrave upon your banners, In words of golden light, That honor, truth, and justice Are more than godless might. 

 Above earth's pain and sorrow Christ's dying face I see; I hear the cry of anguish:-- "Why hast thou forsaken me?"

 In the pallor of that anguish I see the only light, To flood with peace and gladness Earth's sorrow, pain, and night. 

 Arrayed in Christly armor 'Gainst error, crime, and sin, The victory can't be doubtful, For God is sure to win. 

The next paper was by Miss Iola Leroy, on the "Education of Mothers. "

"I agree, " said Rev. Eustace, of St. Mary's parish, "with the paper. Thegreat need of the race is enlightened mothers. "

"And enlightened fathers, too, " added Miss Delany, quickly. "If there isanything I chafe to see it is a strong, hearty man shirking his burdens, putting them on the shoulders of his wife, and taking life easy forhimself. "

"I always pity such mothers, " interposed Iola, tenderly. 

"I think, " said Miss Delany, with a flash in her eye and a ring ofdecision in her voice, "that such men ought to be drummed out of town!"As she spoke, there was an expression which seemed to say, "And I wouldlike to help do it!"

Harry smiled, and gave her a quick glance of admiration. 

"I do not think, " said Mrs. Stillman, "that we can begin too early toteach our boys to be manly and self-respecting, and our girls to beuseful and self-reliant. "

"You know, " said Mrs. Leroy, "that after the war we were thrown upon thenation a homeless race to be gathered into homes, and a legallyunmarried race to be taught the sacredness of the marriage relation. Wemust instill into our young people that the true strength of a racemeans purity in women and uprightness in men; who can say, with SirGalahad:--

 'My strength is the strength of ten, Because my heart is pure. '

And where this is wanting neither wealth nor culture can make up thedeficiency. "

"There is a field of Christian endeavor which lies between theschool-house and the pulpit, which needs the hand of a woman more inprivate than in public, " said Miss Delany. 

"Yes, I have often felt the need of such work in my own parish. We needa union of women with the warmest hearts and clearest brains to help inthe moral education of the race, " said Rev. Eustace. 

"Yes, " said Iola, "if we would have the prisons empty we must make thehomes more attractive. "

"In civilized society, " replied Dr. Latimer, "there must be restrainteither within or without. If parents fail to teach restraint within, society has her check-reins without in the form of chain-gangs, prisons, and the gallows. "

The closing paper was on the "Moral Progress of the Race, " by Hon. Dugdale. He said: "The moral progress of the race was not all he coulddesire, yet he could not help feeling that, compared with other races, the outlook was not hopeless. I am so sorry to see, however, that insome States there is an undue proportion of colored people in prisons. "

"I think, " answered Professor Langhorne, of Georgia, "that this isowing to a partial administration of law in meting out punishment tocolored offenders. I know red-handed murderers who walk in this Republicunwhipped of justice, and I have seen a colored woman sentenced toprison for weeks for stealing twenty-five cents. I knew a colored girlwho was executed for murder when only a child in years. And it wasthrough the intervention of a friend of mine, one of the bravest youngmen of the South, that a boy of fifteen was saved from the gallows. "

"When I look, " said Mr. Forest, "at the slow growth of moderncivilization--the ages which have been consumed in reaching our presentaltitude, and see how we have outgrown slavery, feudalism, and religiouspersecutions, I cannot despair of the future of the race. "

"Just now, " said Dr. Latimer, "we have the fearful grinding and frictionwhich comes in the course of an adjustment of the new machinery offreedom in the old ruts of slavery. But I am optimistic enough tobelieve that there will yet be a far higher and better Christiancivilization than our country has ever known. "

"And in that civilization I believe the negro is to be an importantfactor, " said Rev. Cantnor. 

"I believe it also, " said Miss Delany, hopefully, "and this thought hasbeen a blessed inspiration to my life. When I come in contact withChristless prejudices, I feel that my life is too much a part of theDivine plan, and invested with too much intrinsic worth, for me to bethe least humiliated by indignities that beggarly souls can inflict. Ifeel more pitiful than resentful to those who do not know how much theymiss by living mean, ignoble lives. "

"My heart, " said Iola, "is full of hope for the future. Pain andsuffering are the crucibles out of which come gold more fine than thepavements of heaven, and gems more precious than the foundations of theHoly City. "

"If, " said Mrs. Leroy, "pain and suffering are factors in humandevelopment, surely we have not been counted too worthless to suffer. "

"And is there, " continued Iola, "a path which we have trodden in thiscountry, unless it be the path of sin, into which Jesus Christ has notput His feet and left it luminous with the light of His steps? Has thenegro been poor and homeless? The birds of the air had nests and thefoxes had holes, but the Son of man had not where to lay His head. Hasour name been a synonym for contempt? 'He shall be called a Nazarene. 'Have we been despised and trodden under foot? Christ was despised andrejected of men. Have we been ignorant and unlearned? It was said ofJesus Christ, 'How knoweth this man letters, never having learned?' Havewe been beaten and bruised in the prison-house of bondage? 'They tookJesus and scourged Him. ' Have we been slaughtered, our bones scatteredat the graves' mouth? He was spit upon by the mob, smitten and mocked bythe rabble, and died as died Rome's meanest criminal slave. To-day thatcross of shame is a throne of power. Those robes of scorn have changedto habiliments of light, and that crown of mockery to a diadem of glory. And never, while the agony of Gethsemane and the sufferings of Calvaryhave their hold upon my heart, will I recognize any religion as Hiswhich despises the least of His brethren. "

As Iola finished, there was a ring of triumph in her voice, as if shewere reviewing a path she had trodden with bleeding feet, and seen itchange to lines of living light. Her soul seemed to be flashing throughthe rare loveliness of her face and etherealizing its beauty. 

Every one was spell-bound. Dr. Latimer was entranced, and, turning toHon. Dugdale, said, in a low voice and with deep-drawn breath, "She isangelic!"

Hon. Dugdale turned, gave a questioning look, then replied, "She isstrangely beautiful! Do you know her?"

"Yes; I have met her several times. I accompanied her here to-night. Thetones of her voice are like benedictions of peace; her words a call tohigher service and nobler life. "

Just then Rev. Carmicle was announced. He had been on a Southern tour, and had just returned. 

"Oh, Doctor, " exclaimed Mrs. Stillman, "I am delighted to see you. Wewere about to adjourn, but we will postpone action to hear from you. "

"Thank you, " replied Rev. Carmicle. "I have not the cue to the meeting, and will listen while I take breath. "

"Pardon me, " answered Mrs. Stillman. "I should have been more thoughtfulthan to press so welcome a guest into service before I had given himtime for rest and refreshment; but if the courtesy failed on my lips itdid not fail in my heart. I wanted our young folks to see one of ourthinkers who had won distinction before the war. "

"My dear friend, " said Rev. Carmicle, smiling, "some of these youngfolks will look on me as a back number. You know the cry has alreadygone forth, 'Young men to the front. '"

"But we need old men for counsel, " interposed Mr. Forest, of New York. 

"Of course, " said Rev. Carmicle, "we older men would rather retiregracefully than be relegated or hustled to a back seat. But I am pleasedto see doors open to you which were closed to us, and opportunitieswhich were denied us embraced by you. "

"How, " asked Hon. Dugdale, "do you feel in reference to our people'scondition in the South?"

"Very hopeful, although at times I cannot help feeling anxious abouttheir future. I was delighted with my visits to various institutions oflearning, and surprised at the desire manifested among the young peopleto obtain an education. Where toil-worn mothers bent beneath their heavyburdens their more favored daughters are enjoying the privileges ofeducation. Young people are making recitations in Greek and Latin whereit was once a crime to teach their parents to read. I also becameacquainted with colored professors and presidents of colleges. Saw youngladies who had graduated as doctors. Comfortable homes have succeededold cabins of slavery. Vast crops have been raised by free labor. I readwith interest and pleasure a number of papers edited by colored men. Isaw it estimated that two millions of our people had learned to read, and I feel deeply grateful to the people who have supplied us withteachers who have stood their ground so nobly among our people. "

"But, " asked Mr. Forest, "you expressed fears about the future of ourrace. From whence do your fears arise?"

"From the unfortunate conditions which slavery has entailed upon thatsection of our country. I dread the results of that racial feeling whichever and anon breaks out into restlessness and crime. Also, I amconcerned about the lack of home training for those for whom thediscipline of the plantation has been exchanged for the penalties ofprisons and chain-gangs. I am sorry to see numbers of our young mengrowing away from the influence of the church and drifting into prisons. I also fear that in some sections, as colored men increase in wealth andintelligence, there will be an increase of race rivalry and jealousy. Itis said that savages, by putting their ears to the ground, can hear afar-off tread. So, to-day, I fear that there are savage elements in ourcivilization which hear the advancing tread of the negro and wouldretard his coming. It is the incarnation of these elements that I dread. It is their elimination I do so earnestly desire. Whether it be outgrownor not is our unsolved problem. Time alone will tell whether or not thevirus of slavery and injustice has too fully permeated our Southerncivilization for a complete recovery. Nations, honey-combed by vice, have fallen beneath the weight of their iniquities. Justice is alwaysuncompromising in its claims and inexorable in its demands. The laws ofthe universe are never repealed to accommodate our follies. "

"Surely, " said Bishop Tunster, "the negro has a higher mission than thatof aimlessly drifting through life and patiently waiting for death. "

"We may not, " answered Rev. Carmicle, "have the same dash, courage, andaggressiveness of other races, accustomed to struggle, achievement, anddominion, but surely the world needs something better than the resultsof arrogance, aggressiveness, and indomitable power. For the evils ofsociety there are no solvents as potent as love and justice, and ourgreatest need is not more wealth and learning, but a religion repletewith life and glowing with love. Let this be the impelling force in therace and it cannot fail to rise in the scale of character andcondition. "

"And, " said Dr. Latimer, "instead of narrowing our sympathies to mereracial questions, let us broaden them to humanity's wider issues. "

"Let us, " replied Rev. Carmicle, "pass it along the lines, that to bewillfully ignorant is to be shamefully criminal. Let us teach our peoplenot to love pleasure or to fear death, but to learn the true value oflife, and to do their part to eliminate the paganism of caste from ourholy religion and the lawlessness of savagery from our civilization. "

 * * * * *

"How did you enjoy the evening, Marie?" asked Robert, as they walkedhomeward. 

"I was interested and deeply pleased, " answered Marie. 

"I, " said Robert, "was thinking of the wonderful changes thathave come to us since the war. When I sat in those well-lighted, beautifully-furnished rooms, I was thinking of the meetings we used tohave in by-gone days. How we used to go by stealth into lonely woods andgloomy swamps, to tell of our hopes and fears, sorrows and trials. Ihope that we will have many more of these gatherings. Let us have thenext one here. "

"I am sure, " said Marie, "I would gladly welcome such a conference atany time. I think such meetings would be so helpful to our youngpeople. "

CHAPTER XXXI. 

DAWNING AFFECTIONS. 

"Doctor, " said Iola, as they walked home from the _conversazione_, "Iwish I could do something more for our people than I am doing. I taughtin the South till failing health compelled me to change my employment. But, now that I am well and strong, I would like to do something oflasting service for the race. "

"Why not, " asked Dr. Latimer, "write a good, strong book which would behelpful to them? I think there is an amount of dormant talent among us, and a large field from which to gather materials for such a book. "

"I would do it, willingly, if I could; but one needs both leisure andmoney to make a successful book. There is material among us for thebroadest comedies and the deepest tragedies, but, besides money andleisure, it needs patience, perseverance, courage, and the hand of anartist to weave it into the literature of the country. "

"Miss Leroy, you have a large and rich experience; you possess a vividimagination and glowing fancy. Write, out of the fullness of your heart, a book to inspire men and women with a deeper sense of justice andhumanity. "

"Doctor, " replied Iola, "I would do it if I could, not for the money itmight bring, but for the good it might do. But who believes any good cancome out of the black Nazareth?"

"Miss Leroy, out of the race must come its own thinkers and writers. Authors belonging to the white race have written good racial books, forwhich I am deeply grateful, but it seems to be almost impossible for awhite man to put himself completely in our place. No man can feel theiron which enters another man's soul. "

"Well, Doctor, when I write a book I shall take you for the hero of mystory. "

"Why, what have I done, " asked Dr. Latimer, in a surprised tone, "thatyou should impale me on your pen?"

"You have done nobly, " answered Iola, "in refusing your grandmother'soffer. "

"I only did my duty, " he modestly replied. 

"But, " said Iola, "when others are trying to slip out from the race andpass into the white basis, I cannot help admiring one who acts as if hefelt that the weaker the race is the closer he would cling to it. "

"My mother, " replied Dr. Latimer, "faithful and true, belongs to thatrace. Where else should I be? But I know a young lady who could havecast her lot with the favored race, yet chose to take her place with thefreed people, as their teacher, friend, and adviser. This young lady wasalone in the world. She had been fearfully wronged, and to her strickenheart came a brilliant offer of love, home, and social position. But shebound her heart to the mast of duty, closed her ears to the syren song, and could not be lured from her purpose. "

A startled look stole over Iola's face, and, lifting her eyes to his, she faltered:--

"Do you know her?"

"Yes, I know her and admire her; and she ought to be made the subjectof a soul-inspiring story. Do you know of whom I speak?"

"How should I, Doctor? I am sure you have not made me your confidante, "she responded, demurely; then she quickly turned and tripped up thesteps of her home, which she had just reached. 

After this conversation Dr. Latimer became a frequent visitor at Iola'shome, and a firm friend of her brother. Harry was at that age when, forthe young and inexperienced, vice puts on her fairest guise and mostseductive smiles. Dr. Latimer's wider knowledge and larger experiencemade his friendship for Harry very valuable, and the service he renderedhim made him a favorite and ever-welcome guest in the family. 

"Are you all alone, " asked Robert, one night, as he entered the cosylittle parlor where Iola sat reading. "Where are the rest of the folks?"

"Mamma and grandma have gone to bed, " answered Iola. "Harry and Lucilleare at the concert. They are passionately fond of music, and findfacilities here that they do not have in the South. They wouldn't go tohear a seraph where they must take a negro seat. I was too tired to go. Besides, 'two's company and three's a crowd, '" she added, significantly. 

"I reckon you struck the nail on the head that time, " said Robert, laughing. "But you have not been alone all the time. Just as I reachedthe corner I saw Dr. Latimer leaving the door. I see he still continueshis visits. Who is his patient now?"

"Oh, Uncle Robert, " said Iola, smiling and flushing, "he is out withHarry and Lucille part of the time, and drops in now and then to see usall. "

"Well, " said Robert, "I suppose the case is now an affair of the heart. But I cannot blame him for it, " he added, looking fondly on thebeautiful face of his niece, which sorrow had touched only to chiselinto more loveliness. "How do you like him?"

"I must have within me, " answered Iola, with unaffected truthfulness, "alarge amount of hero worship. The characters of the Old Testament I mostadmire are Moses and Nehemiah. They were willing to put aside their ownadvantages for their race and country. Dr. Latimer comes up to my idealof a high, heroic manhood. "

"I think, " answered Robert, smiling archly, "he would be delighted tohear your opinion of him. "

"I tell him, " continued Iola, "that he belongs to the days of chivalry. But he smiles and says, 'he only belongs to the days of hard-panservice. '"

"Some one, " said Robert, "was saying to-day that he stood in his ownlight when he refused his grandmother's offer to receive him as herson. "

"I think, " said Iola, "it was the grandest hour of his life when he madethat decision. I have admired him ever since I heard his story. "

"But, Iola, think of the advantages he set aside. It was no sacrificefor me to remain colored, with my lack of education and race sympathies, but Dr. Latimer had doors open to him as a white man which are foreverclosed to a colored man. To be born white in this country is to be bornto an inheritance of privileges, to hold in your hands the keys thatopen before you the doors of every occupation, advantage, opportunity, and achievement. "

"I know that, uncle, " answered Iola; "but even these advantages are toodearly bought if they mean loss of honor, true manliness, and selfrespect. He could not have retained these had he ignored his mother andlived under a veil of concealment, constantly haunted by a dread ofdetection. The gain would not have been worth the cost. It were betterthat he should walk the ruggedest paths of life a true man than treadthe softest carpets a moral cripple. "

"I am afraid, " said Robert, laying his hand caressingly upon her head, "that we are destined to lose the light of our home. "

"Oh, uncle, how you talk! I never dreamed of what you are thinking, "answered Iola, half reproachfully. 

"And how, " asked Robert, "do you know what I am thinking about?"

"My dear uncle, I'm not blind. "

"Neither am I, " replied Robert, significantly, as he left the room. 

Iola's admiration for Dr. Latimer was not a one-sided affair. Day afterday she was filling a larger place in his heart. The touch of her handthrilled him with emotion. Her lightest words were an entrancing melodyto his ear. Her noblest sentiments found a response in his heart. Intheir desire to help the race their hearts beat in loving unison. Onegrand and noble purpose was giving tone and color to their lives andstrengthening the bonds of affection between them. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

WOOING AND WEDDING. 

Harry's vacation had been very pleasant. Miss Delany, with her fineconversational powers and ready wit, had added much to his enjoyment. Robert had given his mother the pleasantest room in the house, and inthe evening the family would gather around her, tell her the news of theday, read to her from the Bible, join with her in thanksgiving formercies received and in prayer for protection through the night. Harrywas very grateful to Dr. Latimer for the kindly interest he had shown inaccompanying Miss Delany and himself to places of interest andamusement. He was grateful, too, that in the city of P---- doors wereopen to them which were barred against them in the South. 

The bright, beautiful days of summer were gliding into autumn, with itsglorious wealth of foliage, and the time was approaching for thedeparture of Harry and Miss Delany to their respective schools, when Dr. Latimer received several letters from North Carolina, urging him to comeSouth, as physicians were greatly needed there. Although his practicewas lucrative in the city of P----, he resolved he would go where hisservices were most needed. 

A few evenings before he started he called at the house, and made anengagement to drive Iola to the park. 

At the time appointed he drove up to the door in his fine equipage. Iola stepped gracefully in and sat quietly by his side to enjoy theloveliness of the scenery and the gorgeous grandeur of the setting sun. 

"I expect to go South, " said Dr. Latimer, as he drove slowly along. 

"Ah, indeed, " said Iola, assuming an air of interest, while a shadowflitted over her face. "Where do you expect to pitch your tent?"

"In the city of C----, North Carolina, " he answered. 

"Oh, I wish, " she exclaimed, "that you were going to Georgia, where youcould take care of that high-spirited brother of mine. "

"I suppose if he were to hear you he would laugh, and say that he couldtake care of himself. But I know a better plan than that. "

"What is it?" asked Iola, innocently. 

"That you will commit yourself, instead of your brother, to my care. "

"Oh, dear, " replied Iola, drawing a long breath. "What would mamma say?"

"That she would willingly resign you, I hope. "

"And what would grandma and Uncle Robert say?" again asked Iola. 

"That they would cheerfully acquiesce. Now, what would I say if they allconsent?"

"I don't know, " modestly responded Iola. 

"Well, " replied Dr. Latimer, "I would say:--

 "Could deeds my love discover, Could valor gain thy charms, To prove myself thy lover I'd face a world in arms. "

"And prove a good soldier, " added Iola, smiling, "when there is nobattle to fight. "

"Iola, I am in earnest, " said Dr. Latimer, passionately. "In the work towhich I am devoted every burden will be lighter, every path smoother, ifbrightened and blessed with your companionship. "

A sober expression swept over Iola's face, and, dropping her eyes, shesaid: "I must have time to think. "

Quietly they rode along the river bank until Dr. Latimer broke thesilence by saying:--

"Miss Iola, I think that you brood too much over the condition of ourpeople. "

"Perhaps I do, " she replied, "but they never burn a man in the Souththat they do not kindle a fire around my soul. "

"I am afraid, " replied Dr. Latimer, "that you will grow morbid andnervous. Most of our people take life easily--why shouldn't you?"

"Because, " she answered, "I can see breakers ahead which they do not. "

"Oh, give yourself no uneasiness. They will catch the fret and fever ofthe nineteenth century soon enough. I have heard several of ourministers say that it is chiefly men of disreputable characters who aremade the subjects of violence and lynch-law. "

"Suppose it is so, " responded Iola, feelingly. "If these men believe ineternal punishment they ought to feel a greater concern for the wretchedsinner who is hurried out of time with all his sins upon his head, thanfor the godly man who passes through violence to endless rest. "

"That is true; and I am not counseling you to be selfish; but, MissIola, had you not better look out for yourself?"

"Thank you, Doctor, I am feeling quite well. "

"I know it, but your devotion to study and work is too intense, " hereplied. 

"I am preparing to teach, and must spend my leisure time in study. Mr. Cloten is an excellent employer, and treats his employés as if they hadhearts as well as hands. But to be an expert accountant is not the bestuse to which I can put my life. "

"As a teacher you will need strong health and calm nerves. You hadbetter let me prescribe for you. You need, " he added, with a merrytwinkle in his eyes, "change of air, change of scene, and change ofname. "

"Well, Doctor, " said Iola, laughing, "that is the newest nostrum out. Had you not better apply for a patent?"

"Oh, " replied Dr. Latimer, with affected gravity, "you know you musthave unlimited faith in your physician. "

"So you wish me to try the faith cure?" asked Iola, laughing. 

"Yes, faith in me, " responded Dr. Latimer, seriously. 

"Oh, here we are at home!" exclaimed Iola. "This has been a gloriousevening, Doctor. I am indebted to you for a great pleasure. I amextremely grateful. "

"You are perfectly welcome, " replied Dr. Latimer. "The pleasure has beenmutual, I assure you. "

"Will you not come in?" asked Iola. 

Tying his horse, he accompanied Iola into the parlor. Seating himselfnear her, he poured into her ears words eloquent with love andtenderness. 

"Iola, " he said, "I am not an adept in courtly phrases. I am a plainman, who believes in love and truth. In asking you to share my lot, I amnot inviting you to a life of ease and luxury, for year after year I mayhave to struggle to keep the wolf from the door, but your presence wouldmake my home one of the brightest spots on earth, and one of the fairesttypes of heaven. Am I presumptuous in hoping that your love will becomethe crowning joy of my life?"

His words were more than a tender strain wooing her to love andhappiness, they were a clarion call to a life of high and holy worth, acall which found a response in her heart. Her hand lay limp in his. Shedid not withdraw it, but, raising her lustrous eyes to his, she softlyanswered: "Frank, I love you. "

After he had gone, Iola sat by the window, gazing at the splendid stars, her heart quietly throbbing with a delicious sense of joy and love. Shehad admired Dr. Gresham and, had there been no barrier in her way, shemight have learned to love him; but Dr. Latimer had grown irresistiblyupon her heart. There were depths in her nature that Dr. Gresham hadnever fathomed; aspirations in her soul with which he had never mingled. But as the waves leap up to the strand, so her soul went out to Dr. Latimer. Between their lives were no impeding barriers, no inclinationimpelling one way and duty compelling another. Kindred hopes and tasteshad knit their hearts; grand and noble purposes were lighting up theirlives; and they esteemed it a blessed privilege to stand on thethreshold of a new era and labor for those who had passed from the oldoligarchy of slavery into the new commonwealth of freedom. 

On the next evening, Dr. Latimer rang the bell and was answered byHarry, who ushered him into the parlor, and then came back to thesitting-room, saying, "Iola, Dr. Latimer has called to see you. "

"Has he?" answered Iola, a glad light coming into her eyes. "Come, Lucille, let us go into the parlor. "

"Oh, no, " interposed Harry, shrugging his shoulders and catchingLucille's hand. "He didn't ask for you. When we went to the concert wewere told three's a crowd. And I say one good turn deserves another. "

"Oh, Harry, you are so full of nonsense. Let Lucille go!" said Iola. 

"Indeed I will not. I want to have a good time as well as you, " saidHarry. 

"Oh, you're the most nonsensical man I know, " interposed Miss Delany. Yet she stayed with Harry. 

"You're looking very bright and happy, " said Dr. Latimer to Iola, as sheentered. 

"My ride in the park was so refreshing! I enjoyed it so much! The daywas so lovely, the air delicious, the birds sang so sweetly, and thesunset was so magnificent. "

"I am glad of it. Why, Iola, your home is so happy your heart should beas light as a school-girl's. "

"Doctor, " she replied, "I must be prematurely old. I have scarcely knownwhat it is to be light-hearted since my father's death. "

"I know it, darling, " he answered, seating himself beside her, anddrawing her to him. "You have been tried in the fire, but are you notbetter for the crucial test?"

"Doctor, " she replied, "as we rode along yesterday, mingling with thesunshine of the present came the shadows of the past. I was thinking ofthe bright, joyous days of my girlhood, when I defended slavery, and ofhow the cup that I would have pressed to the lips of others was forcedto my own. Yet, in looking over the mournful past, I would not changethe Iola of then for the Iola of now. "

"Yes, " responded Dr. Latimer, musingly, "'Darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day. '"

"Oh, Doctor, you cannot conceive what it must have been to be hurledfrom a home of love and light into the dark abyss of slavery; to becompelled to take your place among a people you have learned to lookupon as inferiors and social outcasts; to be in the power of men whosepresence would fill you with horror and loathing, and to know that thereis no earthly power to protect you from the highest insults which brutalcowardice could shower upon you. I am so glad that no other woman of myrace will suffer as I have done. "

The flush deepened on her face, a mournful splendor beamed from herbeautiful eyes, into which the tears had slowly gathered. 

"Darling, " he said, his voice vibrating with mingled feelings oftenderness and resentment, "you must forget the sad past. You are like atender lamb snatched from the jaws of a hungry wolf, but who still needsprotecting, loving care. But it must have been terrible, " he added, in apainful tone. 

"It was indeed! For awhile I was like one dazed. I tried to pray, butthe heavens seemed brass over my head. I was wild with agony, and had Inot been placed under conditions which roused all the resistance of mysoul, I would have lost my reason. "

"Was it not a mistake to have kept you ignorant of your colored blood?"

"It was the great mistake of my father's life, but dear papa knewsomething of the cruel, crushing power of caste; and he tried to shieldus from it. "

"Yes, yes, " replied Dr. Latimer, thoughtfully, "in trying to shield youfrom pain he plunged you into deeper suffering. "

"I never blame him, because I know he did it for the best. Had he livedhe would have taken us to France, where I should have had a life ofcareless ease and pleasure. But now my life has a much grandersignificance than it would have had under such conditions. Fearful asthe awakening was, it was better than to have slept through life. "

"Best for you and best for me, " said Dr. Latimer. "There are souls thatnever awaken; but if they miss the deepest pain they also lose thehighest joy. "

Dr. Latimer went South, after his engagement, and through his medicalskill and agreeable manners became very successful in his practice. Inthe following summer, he built a cosy home for the reception of hisbride, and came North, where, with Harry and Miss Delany as attendants, he was married to Iola, amid a pleasant gathering of friends, by Rev. Carmicle. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

It was late in the summer when Dr. Latimer and his bride reached theirhome in North Carolina. Over the cottage porch were morning-glories togreet the first flushes of the rising day, and roses and jasmines todistill their fragrance on the evening air. Aunt Linda, who had beenapprised of their coming, was patiently awaiting their arrival, andUncle Daniel was pleased to know that "dat sweet young lady who had sichputty manners war comin' to lib wid dem. "

As soon as they arrived, Aunt Linda rushed up to Iola, folded her in herarms, and joyfully exclaimed: "How'dy, honey! I'se so glad you's come. Iseed it in a vision dat somebody fair war comin' to help us. An' wen Iyered it war you, I larffed and jist rolled ober, and larffed and jistgib up. "

"But, Aunt Linda, I am not very fair, " replied Mrs. Latimer. 

"Well, chile, you's fair to me. How's all yore folks in de up kentry?"

"All well. I expect them down soon to live here. "

"What, Har'yet, and Robby, an' yer ma? Oh, dat is too good. I allerssaid Robby had san' in his craw, and war born for good luck. He war amighty nice boy. Har'yet's in clover now. Well, ebery dorg has its day, and de cat has Sunday. I allers tole Har'yet ter keep a stiff upper lip;dat it war a long road dat had no turn. "

Dr. Latimer was much gratified by the tender care Aunt Linda bestowedon Iola. 

"I ain't goin' to let her do nuffin till she gits seasoned. She looks assweet as a peach. I allers wanted some nice lady to come down yere andlarn our gals some sense. I can't read myself, but I likes ter yere demdat can. "

"Well, Aunt Linda, I am going to teach in the Sunday-school, help in thechurch, hold mothers' meetings to help these boys and girls to grow upto be good men and women. Won't you get a pair of spectacles and learnto read?"

"Oh, yer can't git dat book froo my head, no way you fix it. I knowsnuff to git to hebben, and dat's all I wants to know. " Aunt Linda waskind and obliging, but there was one place where she drew the line, andthat was at learning to read. 

Harry and Miss Delany accompanied Iola as far as her new home, andremained several days. The evening before their departure, Harry tookMiss Delany a drive of several miles through the pine barrens. 

"This thing is getting very monotonous, " Harry broke out, when they hadgone some distance. 

"Oh, I enjoy it!" replied Miss Delany. "These stately pines look sogrand and solemn, they remind me of a procession of hooded monks. "

"What in the world are you talking about, Lucille?" asked Harry, lookingpuzzled. 

"About those pine-trees, " replied Miss Delany, in a tone of surprise. 

"Pshaw, I wasn't thinking about them. I'm thinking about Iola andFrank. "

"What about them?" asked Lucille. 

"Why, when I was in P----, Dr. Latimer used to be first-rate company, but now it is nothing but what Iola wants, and what Iola says, and whatIola likes. I don't believe that there is a subject I could name to him, from spinning a top to circumnavigating the globe, that he wouldn'tsomehow contrive to bring Iola in. And I don't believe you could talkten minutes to Iola on any subject, from dressing a doll to the latestdiscovery in science, that she wouldn't manage to lug in Frank. "

"Oh, you absurd creature!" responded Lucille, "this is their honeymoon, and they are deeply in love with each other. Wait till you get in lovewith some one. "

"I am in love now, " replied Harry, with a serious air. 

"With whom?" asked Lucille, archly. 

"With you, " answered Harry, trying to take her hand. 

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed, playfully resisting. "Don't be sononsensical! Don't you think the bride looked lovely, with that dress ofspotless white and with those orange blossoms in her hair?"

"Yes, she did; that's a fact, " responded Harry. "But, Lucille, I thinkthere is a great deal of misplaced sentiment at weddings, " he added, more seriously. 

"How so?"

"Oh, here are a couple just married, and who are as happy as happy canbe; and people will crowd around them wishing much joy; but who thinksof wishing joy to the forlorn old bachelors and restless old maids?"

"Well, Harry, if you want people to wish you much happiness, why don'tyou do as the doctor has done, get yourself a wife?"

"I will, " he replied, soberly, "when you say so. "

"Oh, Harry, don't be so absurd. "

"Indeed there isn't a bit of absurdity about what I say. I am inearnest. " There was something in the expression of Harry's face and thetone of his voice which arrested the banter on Lucille's lips. 

"I think it was Charles Lamb, " replied Lucille, "who once said thatschool-teachers are uncomfortable people, and, Harry, I would not liketo make you uncomfortable by marrying you. "

"You will make me uncomfortable by not marrying me. "

"But, " replied Lucille, "your mother may not prefer me for a daughter. You know, Harry, complexional prejudices are not confined to whitepeople. "

"My mother, " replied Harry, with an air of confidence, "is too noble toindulge in such sentiments. "

"And Iola, would she be satisfied?"

"Why, it would add to her satisfaction. She is not one who can't bewhite and won't be black. "

"Well, then, " replied Lucille, "I will take the question of your comfortinto consideration. "

The above promise was thoughtfully remembered by Lucille till a bridalring and happy marriage were the result. 

Soon after Iola had settled in C---- she quietly took her place in theSunday-school as a teacher, and in the church as a helper. She waswelcomed by the young pastor, who found in her a strong and faithfulally. Together they planned meetings for the especial benefit of mothersand children. When the dens of vice are spreading their snares for thefeet of the tempted and inexperienced her doors are freely opened forthe instruction of the children before their feet have wandered and gonefar astray. She has no carpets too fine for the tread of their littlefeet. She thinks it is better to have stains on her carpet than stainson their souls through any neglect of hers. In lowly homes andwindowless cabins her visits are always welcome. Little children loveher. Old age turns to her for comfort, young girls for guidance, andmothers for counsel. Her life is full of blessedness. 

Doctor Latimer by his kindness and skill has won the name of the "GoodDoctor. " But he is more than a successful doctor; he is a true patriotand a good citizen. Honest, just, and discriminating, he endeavors byprecept and example to instill into the minds of others sentiments ofgood citizenship. He is a leader in every reform movement for thebenefit of the community; but his patriotism is not confined to racelines. "The world is his country, and mankind his countrymen. " While heabhors their deeds of violence, he pities the short-sighted and besottedmen who seem madly intent upon laying magazines of powder under thecradles of unborn generations. He has great faith in the possibilitiesof the negro, and believes that, enlightened and Christianized, he willsink the old animosities of slavery into the new community of interestsarising from freedom; and that his influence upon the South will be asthe influence of the sun upon the earth. As when the sun passes fromCapricorn to Cancer, beauty, greenness, and harmony spring up in hispath, so he hopes that the future career of the negro will be a greaterinfluence for freedom and social advancement than it was in the days ofyore for slavery and its inferior civilization. 

Harry and Lucille are at the head of a large and flourishing school. Lucille gives her ripening experience to her chosen work, to which shewas too devoted to resign. And through the school they are lifting upthe homes of the people. Some have pitied, others blamed, Harry forcasting his lot with the colored people, but he knows that life'shighest and best advantages do not depend on the color of the skin ortexture of the hair. He has his reward in the improved condition of hispupils and the superb manhood and noble life which he has developed inhis much needed work. 

Uncle Daniel still lingers on the shores of time, a cheery, lovable oldman, loved and respected by all; a welcome guest in every home. Soonafter Iola's marriage, Robert sold out his business and moved with hismother and sister to North Carolina. He bought a large plantation nearC----, which he divided into small homesteads, and sold to poor butthrifty laborers, and his heart has been gladdened by their increasedprosperity and progress. He has seen the one-roomed cabins change tocomfortable cottages, in which cleanliness and order have supplanted theprolific causes of disease and death. Kind and generous, he oftenremembers Mrs. Johnson and sends her timely aid. 

Marie's pale, spiritual face still bears traces of the beauty which washer youthful dower, but its bloom has been succeeded by an air ofsweetness and dignity. Though frail in health, she is always ready tolend a helping hand wherever and whenever she can. 

Grandmother Johnson was glad to return South and spend the remnant ofher days with the remaining friends of her early life. Although feeble, she is in full sympathy with her children for the uplifting of the race. Marie and her mother are enjoying their aftermath of life, one byrendering to others all the service in her power, while the other, withher face turned toward the celestial city, is

 "Only waiting till the angels Open wide the mystic gate. "

The shadows have been lifted from all their lives; and peace, likebright dew, has descended upon their paths. Blessed themselves, theirlives are a blessing to others. 

NOTE. 

From threads of fact and fiction I have woven a story whose mission willnot be in vain if it awaken in the hearts of our countrymen a strongersense of justice and a more Christlike humanity in behalf of those whomthe fortunes of war threw, homeless, ignorant and poor, upon thethreshold of a new era. Nor will it be in vain if it inspire thechildren of those upon whose brows God has poured the chrism of that newera to determine that they will embrace every opportunity, develop everyfaculty, and use every power God has given them to rise in the scale ofcharacter and condition, and to add their quota of good citizenship tothe best welfare of the nation. There are scattered among us materialsfor mournful tragedies and mirth-provoking comedies, which some hand mayyet bring into the literature of the country, glowing with the fervor ofthe tropics and enriched by the luxuriance of the Orient, and thus addto the solution of our unsolved American problem. 

The race has not had very long to straighten its hands from the hoe, tograsp the pen and wield it as a power for good, and to erect above theruined auction-block and slave-pen institutions of learning, but

 There is light beyond the darkness, Joy beyond the present pain; There is hope in God's great justice And the negro's rising brain. Though the morning seems to linger O'er the hill-tops far away, Yet the shadows bear the promise Of a brighter coming day.