o, no! I must do it. I will be a man again;" and he rose and walked
steadily to the dead bodies. "Is there any one here to help?" he asked.

Jim was standing in the door-way, and I motioned to him to come forward.
The great tears were streaming down his face as he stepped timidly
towards his master, and said: "I'll do dis, massa, don't you trubble
yerself no more."

"It's good of you, Jim. You'll forgive me for being so cruel to you,
wont you?" said the Colonel, taking the black by the hand.

"Forgib ye, massa! _I_ war all ter blame--but ye'll forgib me,
massa--ye'll forgib me!" cried the black, with strong emotion.

"Yes, yes; but say no more about it. Come, let us get Julie home."

But the poor girl was already _home_--home where her sufferings and her
sorrows were over, and all her tears were wiped away forever!

We four bore away the mother and the child. A number of blankets were in
the bottom of the wagon, and we laid the bodies carefully upon them.
When all seemed ready, the Colonel, who was still standing by the side
of the dead, turned to my new friend, and said: "Barnes, will you loan
me a pillow? I will send it back to-night."

"Sartin, Cunnel;" and the farmer soon brought one from the house.
Lifting tenderly the head of the drowned girl, the Colonel placed it
beneath her, and smoothing back her tangled hair, he gently covered her
face with his handkerchief, as if she could still feel his kindness, or
longer cared for the pity or the love of mortal. Yet, who knows but that
her parted soul, from the high realm to which it had soared, may not
then have looked down, have seen that act, and have forgiven him!

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SMALL PLANTER.

In the first moments of grief the sympathy of friends, and the words of
consolation bring no relief. How much more harshly do such words grate
on the ear when the soul is bowed down by remorse and unavailing regret!
Then the wounded spirit finds peace nowhere but with God.

I saw that the Colonel would be alone, and turning to him, as he
prepared to follow the strange vehicle, which, with its load of death,
was already jolting its way over the rough forest road, I said,

"Will you pardon me, if I remain with your friend here for awhile? I
will be at the mansion before dark."

"Oh, certainly, my friend, come when you feel disposed," he replied, and
mounting his horse he was soon out of sight among the trees.

"Now, Barnes," I said, shaking off the glo