a few days she war gone out like de
snuff ob a candle. She lef' several sons, an' I specs she would almos'
turn ober in her grave ef she know'd she had ten culled granchillen
somewhar down in de lower kentry."

"Isn't it funny," said Robert, "how these white folks look down on
colored people, an' then mix up with them?"

"Marster war away when Miss 'Liza treated my Katie so mean, an' when I
tole him 'bout it, he war tearin' mad, an' went ober an' saw ole
Gundover, an' foun' out he war hard up for money, an' he bought Katie
and brought her home to lib wid me, and we's been a libin in clover eber
sence. Marster Robert has been mighty good to me. He stood by me in my
troubles, an' now his trouble's come, I'm a gwine to stan' by him. I
used to think Gundover's wife war jealous ob my Katie. She war so much
puttier. Gundover's wife couldn't tech my Katie wid a ten foot pole."

"But, Aunt Katie, you have had your trials," said Robert, now that
Daniel had finished his story; "don't you feel bitter towards these
people who are fighting to keep you in slavery?"

Aunt Katie turned her face towards the speaker. It was a thoughtful,
intelligent face, saintly and calm. A face which expressed the idea of a
soul which had been fearfully tempest tossed, but had passed through
suffering into peace. Very touching was the look of resignation and hope
which overspread her features as she replied, with the simple child-like
faith which she had learned in the darkest hour, "The Lord says, we must
forgive." And with her that thought, as coming from the lips of Divine
Love, was enough to settle the whole question of forgiveness of injuries
and love to enemies.

"Well," said Thomas Anderson, turning to Uncle Daniel, "we can't count
on yer to go wid us?"

"Boys," said Uncle Daniel, and there was grief in his voice, "I'se
mighty glad you hab a chance for your freedom; but, ez I tole yer, I
promised Marse Robert I would stay, an' I mus' be as good as my word.
Don't you youngsters stay for an ole stager like me. I'm ole an' mos'
worn out. Freedom wouldn't do much for me, but I want you all to be as
free as the birds; so, you chillen, take your freedom when you kin get
it."

"But, Uncle Dan'el, you won't say nothin' 'bout our going, will you?"
said the youngest of the company.

Uncle Daniel slowly arose. There was a mournful flash in his eye, a
tremor of emotion in his voice, as he said, "Look yere, boys, de boy dat
axed dat question war a