that what little cleaning
our floors get is done with a cloth."

"Wall, if I won't give it up now," said Miss Nancy. "As good an
abolutionist as you used to be, make the poor colored folks wash the
floor with a rag, on their hands and knees! It can't be that you
indulge a hope, if you'll do such things!"

John made Miss Nancy no answer, but turning to his mother, he said,
"I'm in earnest, mother, about your carrying so many useless things.
_We_ don't want them. Our house is full now, and besides that, Mrs.
Livingstone is very particular about the style of her furniture, and
I am afraid yours would hardly come up to her ideas of elegance."

"That chist of drawers," said Mrs. Nichols, pointing to an
old-fashioned, high-topped bureau, "cost an ocean of money when 'twas
new, and if the brasses on it was rubbed up, 'Tilda couldn't tell 'em
from gold, unless she's seen more on't than I have, which ain't much
likely, bein' I'm double her age."

"The chest does very well for you, I admit," said John; "but we have
neither use nor room for it, so if you can't sell it, why, give it
away, or burn it, one or the other."

Mrs. Nichols saw he was decided, and forthwith 'Lena was dispatched
to Widow Fisher's, to see if she would take it at half price. The
widow had no fancy for second-hand articles, consequently Miss Nancy
was told "to keep it, and maybe she'd sometime have a chance to send
it to Kentucky. It won't come amiss, I know, s'posin' they be well
on't. I b'lieve in lookin' out for a rainy day. I can teach 'Tilda
economy yet," whispered Mrs. Nichols, glancing toward the room where
John sat, whistling, whittling, and pondering in his own mind the
best way if reconciling his wife to what could not well be helped.

'Lena, who was naturally quick-sighted, had partially divined the
cause of her uncle's moodiness. The more she saw of him the better
she liked him, and she began to think that she would willingly try to
cure herself of the peculiarities which evidently annoyed him, if he
would only notice her a little, which he was not likely to do. He
seldom noticed any child, much less little 'Lena, who he fancied was
ignorant as well as awkward; but he did not know her.

One day when, as usual, he sat whittling and thinking, 'Lena
approached him softly, and laying her hand upon his knee, said rather
timidly, "Uncle, I wish you'd tell me something about my cousins."

"What about them," he asked, somewhat gruffly, fo