CHAPTER XLIX.

ALL'S WELL.

Two months have passed since the events recorded in the preceding
chapter. Tom has been arraigned before a jury of his peers, and
honorably acquitted, although strong efforts were made to procure a
conviction, for Mr. Snivel had many friends in Charleston who considered
his death a loss. But the people said it was a righteous verdict, and
justified it by their applause.

And now, the dark clouds of sorrow and trial having passed away, the
happy dawn of a new life is come. How powerfully the truth of the words
uttered by the woman, Undine, impresses itself on her mind now,--"You
are still richer than me." It is a bright sunny morning in early April.
Birds are making the air melodious with their songs; flowers blooming by
the roadside, are distilling their perfumes; a bright and serene sky,
tinged in the East with soft, azure clouds, gives a clear, delicate
outline to the foliage, so luxuriant and brilliant of color, skirting
the western edge of the harbor, and reflecting itself in the calm,
glassy water. A soft whispering wind comes fragrant from the west; it
does indeed seem as if nature were blending her beauties to make the
harmony perfect.

A grotesque group, chiefly negroes, old and young, may be seen gathered
about the door of a quaint old personage near the millpond. Their
curiosity is excited to the highest pitch, and they wait with evident
impatience the coming of the object that has called them together. Chief
among the group is old Cato, in his best clothes, consisting of a tall
drab hat, a faded blue coat, the tail extending nearly to the ground,
striped pantaloons, a scarlet vest, an extravagant shirt collar, tied at
the neck with a piece of white cotton, and his bare feet. Cato moves up
and down, evidently feeling himself an important figure of the event,
and admonishing his young "brudren," who are much inclined to mischief,
not a few having perched on the pickets of the parsonage, to keep on
their best behavior. Then he discourses with great volubility of his
long acquaintance with Mas'r Tom and Miss Maria.

As if to add another prominent picture to the scene, there appears at
the door of the parsonage, every few minutes, a magnificently got-up
negro, portly, grey hair, and venerable, dressed in unsullied black, a
spotless white cravat, and gloves. This is Uncle Pomp, who considers
himself an essential part of the parsonage, and is regarded with awe for
his Bible knowle