made them," said Miss Janet.

"Did God make de nanny-goats, too?"

"You know that God made every thing," said Miss Janet. "I have often told
you so."

"He didn't make mammy's house, ma'am; I seed de men makin it."

"No; man makes houses, but God made all the beautiful things in nature. He
made man, and trees, and rivers, and such things as man could not make."

Lydia looked up at the sky. The sun had set, and the moon was coming forth,
a few stars glistened there. Long, fleecy clouds extended over the arch of
heaven, and some passing ones for a moment obscured the brightness that
gilded the beautiful scene.

"Miss Janet," said Lydia, "its mighty pretty there; but 'spose it was to
fall."

"What was to fall?"

"De sky, ma'am."

"It cannot fall. God holds it in its place."

Another interval and Lydia said: "Miss Janet, 'spose God was to die, den de
sky would broke down."

"What put such a dreadful thought into your head, child?" said Miss Janet.
"God cannot die."

"Yes, ma'am, he kin," said Lydia.

"No, he cannot. Have I not often told you that God is a spirit? He created
all things, but he never was made; he cannot die."

Lydia said inquiringly, "Wasn't Jesus Christ God, ma'am?"

"Yes, he was the Son of God, and he was God."

"Well, ma'am, he died onct, dat time de Jews crucified him--dat time de
ground shook, and de dead people got up--dat time he was nailed to de
cross. So, ma'am, if God died onct, couldn't he die agin?"

Miss Janet, arousing herself from her reverie, looked at the child. There
she stood, her eyes fixed upon the sky, her soul engaged in solving this
mysterious question. Her little hands hung listlessly by her side; there
was no beauty in her face; the black skin, the projecting lips, the heavy
features, designated her as belonging to a degraded race. Yet the soul was
looking forth from its despised tenement, and eagerly essaying to grasp
things beyond its reach.

"Could he die agin, Miss Janet?" asked Lydia.

Poor child! thought Miss Janet, how the soul pinioned and borne down, longs
to burst its chains, and to soar through the glorious realms of light and
knowledge. I thought but now that there was no more for me to do here; that
tired of the rugged ascent, I stood as it were on the tops of those
mountains, gazing in spirit on the celestial city, and still not called to
enter in. Now, I see there is work for me to do. Thou art a slave, Lydia;
yet God has called thee to the free