d bring her back. Thoughts of what her mistress might do
in such a case reminded her that she was neglecting the fish. Like a
machine wound up, she began to go her customary rounds; but she had lost
so much time that it was late before her task was completed. Then she
wandered away to a little heap of moss and pebbles, that Tommy had built
the last time they were together on the beach. On a wet rock near by she
sat down and cried. Black clouds gathered over her head, a cold
northeast wind blew upon her, and the spray sprinkled her naked feet.
Still she sat there and cried. Louder and louder whistled the wind;
wilder and wilder grew the moan of the sea. She heard the uproar without
caring for it. She wished the big waves would come and wash her away.

Meanwhile Mrs. Lawton noticed the gathering darkness, and looked out
anxiously for the return of her servant. "What upon airth can have
become of her?" said she. "She oughter been home an hour ago."

"I shouldn't wonder if she had set out to go to Sukey Larkin's," replied
Catharine.

The Widow had thought of that; she had also thought of the sea; for she
had an uneasy remembrance of that look of utter misery when Chloe said,
"How _could_ you do it?"

It was Saturday evening; and, according to custom, Tom came to see his
wife, all unconscious of the affliction that had befallen them. Mrs.
Lawton went out to meet him, and said: "Tom, I wish you would go right
down to the beach, and see what has become of Chloe. She a'n't come home
yet, and I'm afraid something has happened." She returned to the house,
thinking to herself, "If the wench is drowned, where shall I get such
another?"

Tom found Chloe still sitting on the wet stone. When he spoke to her,
she started, as if from sleep; and her first exclamation was, "O Tom!
missis has guv away little Tommy."

It was some time before he could understand what had happened; but when
he realized that his child was gone, his strong frame shook with sobs.
Little Tommy was the only creature on earth that loved him,--his only
treasure, his only plaything. "It's cruel hard," said he.

"O, how little Tommy is crying for mammy!" sobbed Chloe; "and I can't
git to him nohow. Oh! oh!"

Tom tried to comfort her, as well as he knew how. Among other things, he
suggested running away.

"I've been thinking 'bout that," rejoined Chloe; "but there a'n't
nowhere to run to. The white folks has got all the money, and all the
hosses, and all the