she would sell
better without it. If I buy her, I shall give away the little
encumbrance."

The poor slave-mother heard him, and strained her baby to her bosom,
as if she would say, "You shall _never_ take him from me." The boy
looked into her face, and smiled a sweet baby smile, and put his
little arms about her neck, and laid his cheek on hers. One would have
thought he understood what was passing in her heart, and strove to
comfort her. "$575--$600--$650,"--and Christine and her baby boy
became the property of Mr. St. Laurent.

"I would not have bought the woman," said he, turning to an
acquaintance, "but for the girl's importunity. I feared she would have
the sulks if I didn't, and I want to keep her good-natured. I shall
give the mother as a wedding-present to my daughter. But anybody may
have the child, who will take him off my hands?"

"I will take him, sir, and thank you too," said a little, sharp
looking, bustling man, stepping briskly up, and bowing to Mr. St.
Laurent.

"Will you, my friend? Then he is yours, and you may take him away as
soon as you please."

"If I take him now, the woman will raise a storm," said the little
man; "I know a better way than that," and drawing Mr. St. Laurent
aside, he communicated his plan, and they parted mutually satisfied.

Meanwhile the sale went on, but we will not follow further its
revolting details. Christine, with her baby and Matty, were put in
safe quarters for the night. Notwithstanding the intense anxiety that
filled their minds, and a superstitious fear in Christine's heart that
the worst had not yet come, an unaccountable drowsiness oppressed
them, and before long both fell into a deep death-like sleep.

Morning broke over the green earth. The sun gilded the mountain-tops,
and bathing the trees in splendor, was greeted with ten thousand
bird-songs. He kissed the dewy flowers, and their fragrance rose as
incense on the morning air. He looked into the windows of happy homes,
and wakened golden-haired children to renew their joyous sports, and
mothers, whose

"---- souls were hushed with their weight of bliss
Like flowers surcharged with dew,"

sent up their morning thanksgiving to "Him who never slumbers," for
His protection of their "laughing dimpled treasures." Suddenly a warm
ray fell upon the face of the sleeping slave-mother. She wakened with
a start, and with one wild shriek of agony sprang from the bed. Her
babe was gone.

Why need we