he had gone to God.

Mr. St. Clare was very, very unhappy for a long time after Eva died. He
had loved her so much, that now his life seemed quite empty without her.

He did not forget his promise to her about Tom. He went to his lawyer,
and told him to begin writing out the papers that would make Tom free.
It took some time to make a slave free.

'Well, Tom,' said Mr. St. Clare the day after he had spoken to his
Lawyer, 'I'm going to make a free man of you. So have your trunk packed
and get ready to set out for home.'

Joy shone in Uncle Tom's face. 'Bless the Lord,' he said, raising his
hands to heaven.

Mr. St. Clare felt rather hurt. He did not like Tom to be so glad to
leave him.

'You haven't had such a very bad time here that you need be in such
rapture, Tom,' he said.

'No, no, mas'r! tan't that. It's bein' a free man! That's what I'm joyin'
for.'

'Why, Tom, don't you think that you are really better off as you are?'

'No, indeed, Mas'r St. Clare,' said Tom, very decidedly; 'no, indeed.'

'But, Tom, you couldn't possibly have earned by your work such clothes
and such nice, comfortable rooms and good food as I have given you.'

'I knows all that, Mas'r St. Clare. Mas'r has been too good. But, mas'r,
I'd rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have 'em
mine than have the best, and have 'em any man's else. I had so, mas'r. I
thinks it's nature, mas'r.'

'I suppose so, Tom. You will be going off and leaving me, in a month or
two,' he said, rather discontentedly. 'Though why you shouldn't, I don't
know,' he added, in a gayer voice.

[Illustration]

'Not while mas'r is in trouble,' said Tom. 'I'll stay with mas'r as long
as he wants me--so as I can be of any use.'

'Not while I am in trouble, Tom?' said Mr. St. Clare, looking sadly out
of the window. 'And when will my trouble be over?' Then half-smiling he
turned from the window, and laid his hand on Tom's shoulder. 'Ah, Tom,
you soft, silly boy,' he said. 'I won't keep you. Go home to your wife
and children, and give them all my love.'

'Cousin,' said Miss Ophelia, coming into the room, 'I want to speak to
you about Topsy.'

'What has she been doing now?'

[Illustration]

'Nothing; she is a much better girl than she used to be. But I want to
ask you, whose is she--yours or mine?'

'Why yours, of course; I gave her to you,' said Mr. St. Clare.

'But not by law. There is no use my trying to make this child a
Christian, un