s ago he
could have had no understanding of such a grief as now made George's
voice to tremble; but love had opened his eyes to many things, and made
his sympathies keen. He drew nearer, saying almost in a whisper: "But
Uncle Billy says you fought a good fight while you was gettin' ready to
help us cul'ud folks, an' if you got so knocked up you can't do nothin'
moah, maybe 'twon't be expected as you should have yo' hands full when
you go through the gates. You've got yo' scars to show for what you've
done."

George lifted up his head. There was an eager light in his eyes, not so
much because of the comfort that had come from such an unexpected
quarter, as because of a new hope that the words suggested. He lifted
the boy's chin with a trembling hand, and looked wistfully into his
eyes.

"You could do it, couldn't you?" he asked. "All that I must leave
undone? The struggle would not be so great for you. There are schools
near at hand now. You would not have the fearful odds to contend with
that I had. _Will_ you take up my battle? Shall I leave you my sword,
John Jay? Oh, you _do_ understand me, don't you?" he cried, imploringly.

"Yes, I understand," answered the boy. Then, as if George had really
placed an epaulet upon his shoulder, as if he had really given him a
sword, he drew a long breath and said with all the solemnity of a
promise: "Some day Uncle Billy shall say that about me, 'He have fought
a good fight,--he have finished his co'se.'"

[Illustration: Swords]

[Illustration: Tollgate (up)]

CHAPTER IX.

It came to pass as George had said. One cold, rainy day when the wind
rustled the fallen leaves and sighed through all the bare branches, he
came haltingly up to the end of his lonely pilgrimage. It was given to
little John Jay to hold his hand and look into his eyes as Death swung
up the bar and bade him pass on.

A wondering smile flitted across the beloved face; then that mysterious
silence that bars all sight and speech fell between the freed spirit
hastening up the eternal highway and the trembling boy left sobbing
behind.

Mars' Nat turned away with tears in his eyes and looked out of the
window. "Through thick and thin, he's the one soul who loved me and
believed in me," he said, in a half whisper. "His poor, black hands
have upheld the old family standards and ideals far more faithfully than
mine, both in his slavery and his freedom."

Because of this there was no grave made fo