is clasp of Ernest's hand.

"Yes, we will go back. Have you ever been as far as this before?"

"No."

"Then we had better not say anything about it. Your papa might not like
it."

"All right, Ernest. Will you read to me when you go back?"

"Yes, Frank."

Ernest was glad to comply with the little boy's request, as he thought he
might in this way put the thoughts of their exploration out of his mind.

They were fortunate enough to get back without exciting the attention of
Juba, who was busy in the kitchen.

Her work, however, was soon over and she brought her sewing into the room
where the two boys were seated.

"Well, Massa Frank, what am you doing?"

"Ernest is reading to me. Why don't you ever read to me, Juba?"

"O lor', chile, you know I can't read."

"But why can't you read? You're old enough."

"Yes, honey, I'm old enough, but I never had no chance to learn."

"Why didn't you?" persisted Frank. "Didn't you go to school when you was
little?"

"No, chile, never went to school. They didn't have no schools where I was
raised."

"Where was that?"

"In ole Virginny."

"Were you a slave, Juba?" asked Ernest.

"Yes, massa, I was a slave."

"And how did you get here?"

"It was all along of the war. Ole massa he went to the war and got killed.
Then young massa went, and he got killed, too. Then one day there came an
officer--one of Abe Linkum's officers--and he told us we were free and
might go where we pleased."

"Weren't you glad to be free?" asked Ernest.

"No, honey, we didn't know where to go nor what to do. We'd allus had some
one to look after us, but now there wasn't anybody."

"Were you married, Juba?"

"Yes, but I don't know whether my ole man is livin' or not. He was sold
down in Georgie to a cousin of ole massa."

"Then he may be living yet?"

"Yes, honey."

"How old are you, Juba?" asked Frank.

"I don't know, chile. I's powerful old. S'pecs I's a hundred."

Ernest smiled.

"No, Juba," he said, "you are not nearly a hundred. You may be sixty."

"Juba, did you ever hear about Uncle Tom?"

"Yes, chile, I knew Uncle Tom," was the unexpected reply. "He was raised
on Mr. Jackson's place next to ours."

Ernest asked some question about this Uncle Tom, but learned, as he
expected, that it was quite a different person from the negro immortalized
by Mrs. Stowe.

In looking over Frank's books Ernest found an old copy of "Uncle Tom's
Cabin," and taking it down he read some p