her
arms around him, looking the very impersonation of rapturous content. It
was a happy time. Mothers whose children had been torn from them in the
days of slavery knew how to rejoice in her joy. The young people caught
the infection of the general happiness and rejoiced with them that
rejoiced. There were songs of rejoicing and shouts of praise. The
undertone of sadness which had so often mingled with their songs gave
place to strains of exultation; and tears of tender sympathy flowed from
eyes which had often been blurred by anguish. The child of many prayers
and tears was restored to his mother.

Iola stood by the mother's side, smiling, and weeping tears of joy. When
Robert's mother observed Iola, she said to Robert, "Is dis yore wife?"

"Oh, no," replied Robert, "but I believe she is your grandchild, the
daughter of the little girl who was sold away from you so long ago. She
is on her way to the farther South in search of her mother."

"Is she? Dear chile! I hope she'll fine her! She puts me in mine ob my
pore little Marie. Well, I'se got one chile, an' I means to keep on
prayin' tell I fine my daughter. I'm _so_ happy! I feel's like a new
woman!"

"My dear mother," said Robert, "now that I have found you, I mean to
hold you fast just as long as you live. Ever since the war I have been
trying to find out if you were living, but all efforts failed. At last,
I thought I would come and hunt you myself and, now that I have found
you, I am going to take you home to live with me, and to be as happy as
the days are long. I am living in the North, and doing a good business
there. I want you to see joy according to all the days wherein you have
seen sorrow. I do hope this young lady will find _her_ ma and that, when
found, she will prove to be your daughter!"

"Yes, pore, dear chile! I specs her mudder's heart's mighty hungry fer
her. I does hope she's my gran'chile."

Tenderly and caressingly Iola bent over the happy mother, with her heart
filled with mournful memories of her own mother.

Aunt Linda was induced to stay until the next morning, and then gladly
assisted Robert's mother in arranging for her journey northward. The
friends who had given her a shelter in their hospitable home, learned to
value her so much that it was with great reluctance they resigned her to
the care of her son. Aunt Linda was full of bustling activity, and her
spirits overflowed with good humor.

"Now, Harriet," she said, as they rod