ht, Ernest. Will you read to me when you go back?"

"Yes, Frank."

Ernest was glad to comply with the little boy's request, as he thought
he might in this way put the thoughts of their exploration out of his
mind.

They were fortunate enough to get back without exciting the attention
of Juba, who was busy in the kitchen.

Her work, however, was soon over, and she brought her sewing into the
room where the two boys were seated. The garment on which she was
engaged seemed to be a dress of rough cloth.

"Well, Massa Frank, what am you doing?"

"Ernest is reading to me. Why don't you ever read to me, Juba?"

"O lor', chile, you know I can't read."

"But why can't you read? You're old enough."

"Yes, honey, I'm old enough, but I never had no chance to learn."

"Why didn't you?" persisted Frank. "Didn't you go to school when you
was little?"

"No, chile, never went to school. They didn't have no schools where I
was raised."

"Where was that?"

"In ole Virginny."

"Were you a slave, Juba?" asked Ernest, getting interested.

"Yes, massa, I was a slave."

"And how did you get here?"

"It was all along of the war. Ole massa, he went to the war and got
killed. Then young massa went, and he got killed, too. Then one day
there came an officer--one of Abe Linkum's officers--and he told us we
were free and might go where we pleased. That was a drefful time."

"Why was it dreadful? Weren't you glad to be free?" asked Ernest.

"No, honey, we didn't know where to go, nor what to do. We'd allus had
some one to look after us and take care of us, but now there wasn't
anybody."

"Were you married, Juba?"

"Yes, but I don't know whether my ole man is livin' or not. He was
sold down in Georgie, to a cousin of ole massa."

"Then he may be living yet?"

"Yes, honey."

"How old are you, Juba?" asked Frank.

"I don't know, chile. I's powerful old. Specs I's a hundred."

Ernest smiled.

"No, Juba," he said, "you are not nearly a hundred. You may be sixty."

"All right, massa, you know best."

"Juba, did you ever hear about _Uncle Tom?_"

"Yes, chile, I knew Uncle Tom," was the unexpected reply. "He was
raised on Mr. Jackson's place, next to ours."

Ernest asked some questions about this Uncle Tom, but learned, as he
expected, that it was quite a different person from the negro
immortalized by Mrs. Stowe.

In looking over Frank's books Ernest found an old copy of "Uncle Tom's
Cabin," and taking it down, he