lords of the land. So, good-by, sir; if you hear that I'm
taken, you may know that I'm dead!"

George stood up like a rock, and put out his hand with the air of a
prince. The friendly little old man shook it heartily, and after a
little shower of caution, he took his umbrella, and fumbled his way out
of the room.

George stood thoughtfully looking at the door, as the old man closed it.
A thought seemed to flash across his mind. He hastily stepped to it, and
opening it, said,

"Mr. Wilson, one word more."

The old gentleman entered again, and George, as before, locked the door,
and then stood for a few moments looking on the floor, irresolutely. At
last, raising his head with a sudden effort--"Mr. Wilson, you have shown
yourself a Christian in your treatment of me,--I want to ask one last
deed of Christian kindness of you."

"Well, George."

"Well, sir,--what you said was true. I _am_ running a dreadful risk.
There isn't, on earth, a living soul to care if I die," he added,
drawing his breath hard, and speaking with a great effort,--"I shall
be kicked out and buried like a dog, and nobody'll think of it a day
after,--_only my poor wife!_ Poor soul! she'll mourn and grieve; and
if you'd only contrive, Mr. Wilson, to send this little pin to her. She
gave it to me for a Christmas present, poor child! Give it to her,
and tell her I loved her to the last. Will you? _Will_ you?" he added,
earnestly.

"Yes, certainly--poor fellow!" said the old gentleman, taking the pin,
with watery eyes, and a melancholy quiver in his voice.

"Tell her one thing," said George; "it's my last wish, if she _can_ get
to Canada, to go there. No matter how kind her mistress is,--no matter
how much she loves her home; beg her not to go back,--for slavery always
ends in misery. Tell her to bring up our boy a free man, and then he
won't suffer as I have. Tell her this, Mr. Wilson, will you?"

"Yes, George. I'll tell her; but I trust you won't die; take
heart,--you're a brave fellow. Trust in the Lord, George. I wish in my
heart you were safe through, though,--that's what I do."

"_Is_ there a God to trust in?" said George, in such a tone of bitter
despair as arrested the old gentleman's words. "O, I've seen things all
my life that have made me feel that there can't be a God. You Christians
don't know how these things look to us. There's a God for you, but is
there any for us?"

"O, now, don't--don't, my boy!" said the old man, almost sobb