sold my mother from me. And a boy ain't nothin'
without his mother. I forgive her, but I never forget her, and never
expect to. But if she were the best woman on earth I would rather have
my freedom than belong to her. Well, boys, here's a chance for us just
as soon as the Union army gets in sight. What will you do?"

"I'se a goin," said Tom Anderson, "jis' as soon as dem Linkum soldiers
gits in sight."

"An' I'se a gwine wid you, Tom," said another. "I specs my ole
Marster'll feel right smart lonesome when I'se gone, but I don't keer
'bout stayin' for company's sake."

"My ole Marster's room's a heap better'n his company," said Tom
Anderson, "an' I'se a goner too. Dis yer freedom's too good to be lef'
behind, wen you's got a chance to git it. I won't stop to bid ole Marse
good bye."

"What do you think," said Robert, turning to Uncle Daniel; "won't you go
with us?"

"No, chillen, I don't blame you for gwine; but I'se gwine to stay.
Slavery's done got all de marrow out ob dese poor ole bones. Ef freedom
comes it won't do me much good; we ole one's will die out, but it will
set you youngsters all up."

"But, Uncle Daniel, you're not too old to want your freedom?"

"I knows dat. I lubs de bery name of freedom. I'se been praying and
hoping for it dese many years. An' ef I warn't boun', I would go wid you
ter-morrer. I won't put a straw in your way. You boys go, and my prayers
will go wid you. I can't go, it's no use. I'se gwine to stay on de ole
place till Marse Robert comes back, or is brought back."

"But, Uncle Daniel," said Robert, "what's the use of praying for a
thing if, when it comes, you won't take it? As much as you have been
praying and talking about freedom, I thought that when the chance came
you would have been one of the first to take it. Now, do tell us why you
won't go with us. Ain't you willing?"

"Why, Robbie, my whole heart is wid you. But when Marse Robert went to
de war, he called me into his room and said to me, 'Uncle Dan'el, I'se
gwine to de war, an' I want you to look arter my wife an' chillen, an'
see dat eberything goes right on de place'. An' I promised him I'd do it,
an' I mus' be as good as my word. 'Cept de overseer, dere isn't a white
man on de plantation, an' I hear he has to report ter-morrer or be
treated as a deserter. An' der's nobody here to look arter Miss Mary an'
de chillen, but myself, an' to see dat eberything goes right. I promised
Marse Robert I would do it, an' I mu