UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

YOUNG FOLKS’ EDITION

By

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE

Printed by

M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY
CHICAGO

UNCLE TOM’S CABIN

CHAPTER I

UNCLE TOM AND LITTLE HARRY ARE SOLD

ERY many years ago, instead of having servants to wait upon them
and work for them, people used to have slaves. These slaves were
paid no wages. Their masters gave them only food and clothes in
return for their work.

When any one wanted servants he went to market to buy them, just
as nowadays we buy horses and cows, or even tables and chairs.

If the poor slaves were bought by kind people they would be
quite happy. Then they would work willingly for their masters and
mistresses, and even love them. But very often cruel people bought
slaves. These cruel people used to beat them and be unkind to them
in many other ways.

It was very wicked to buy and sell human beings as if they were
cattle. Yet Christian people did it, and many who were good and
kind otherwise thought there was no wrong in being cruel to their
poor slaves. ‘They are only black people,’ they said to themselves.
‘Black people do not feel things as we do.’ That was not kind, as
black people suffer pain just in the same way as white people
do.

One of the saddest things for the poor slaves was that they
could never long be a happy family all together—father,
mother, and little brothers and sisters—because at any time
the master might sell the father or the mother or one of the
children to some one else. When this happened those who were left
behind were very sad indeed—more sad than if their dear one
had died.

Uncle Tom was a slave. He was a very faithful and honest
servant, and his master, Mr. Shelby, was kind to him. Uncle Tom’s
wife was called Aunt Chloe. She was Mr. Shelby’s head cook, and a
very good one too, she was. Nobody in all the country round could
make such delicious pies and cakes as Aunt Chloe.

Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe lived together in a pretty little
cottage built of wood, quite close to Mr. Shelby’s big house.

The little cottage was covered with climbing roses, and the
garden was full of beautiful bright flowers and lovely fruit
trees.

Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe lived happily for many years in their
little cottage, or cabin, as it was called. All day Uncle Tom used
to work in the fields, while Aunt Chloe was busy in the kitchen at
Mr. Shelby’s house. When evening came they both went home to their
cottage and their children, and were merry together.

Mr. Shelby was a good man, and kind to his slaves, but he was
not very careful of his money. When he had spent all he had, he did
not know what to do to get more. At last he borrowed money from a
man called Haley, hoping to be able to pay it back again some
day.

But that day never came. Haley grew impatient, and said, ‘If you
don’t pay what you owe me, I will take your house and lands, and
sell them to pay myself back all the money I have lent to you.’

So Mr. Shelby sold everything he could spare and gathered money
together in every way he could think of, but still there was not
enough.

Then Haley said, ‘Give me that slave of yours called
Tom—he is worth a lot of money.’

But Mr. Shelby knew that Haley was not a nice man. He knew he
did not want Tom for a servant, but only wanted to sell him again,
to make more money. So Mr. Shelby said, ‘No, I can’t do that. I
never mean to sell any of my slaves, least of all Tom. He has been
with me since he was a little boy.’

‘Oh very well,’ said Haley, ‘I shall sell your house and lands,
as I said I should.’

Mr. Shelby could not bear to think of that, so he agreed to let
Haley have Tom. He made him promise, however, not to sell Tom again
except to a kind master.

‘Very well,’ said Haley, ‘but Tom isn’t enough. I must have
another slave.’

Just at this moment a little boy came dancing into the room
where Mr. Shelby and Haley were talking.

He was a pretty, merry little fellow, the son of a slave called
Eliza, who was Mrs. Shelby’s maid.

‘There now,’ said Haley, ‘give me that little chap, as well as
Tom, and we will say no more about the money you owe me.’

‘I can’t,’ said Mr. Shelby. ‘My wife is very fond of Eliza, and
would never hear of having Harry sold.’

‘Oh, very well,’ said Haley once more, ‘I must just sell your
house.’

So again Mr. Shelby gave in, and Haley went away with the
promise that next morning Uncle Tom and little Harry should be
given to him, to be his slaves.

CHAPTER II

ELIZA RUNS AWAY WITH LITTLE HARRY

Mr. Shelby was very unhappy because of what he had done. He knew
his wife would be very unhappy too, and he did not know how to tell
her.

He had to do it that night, however, before she went to bed.

Mrs. Shelby could hardly believe it. ‘Oh, you do not mean this,’
she said. ‘You must not sell our good Tom and dear little Harry. Do
anything rather than that. It is a wicked, wicked thing to do.

‘There is nothing else I can do,’ said Mr. Shelby. ‘I have sold
everything I can think of, and at any rate now that Haley has set
his heart on having Tom and Harry, he would not take anything or
anybody instead.’

Mrs. Shelby cried very much about it, but at last, though she
was very, very unhappy she fell asleep.

But some one whom Mr. and Mrs. Shelby never thought of was
listening to this talk.

Eliza was sitting in the next room. The door was not quite
closed, so she could not help hearing what was said. As she
listened she grew pale and cold and a terrible look of pain came
into her face.

Eliza had had three dear little children, but two of them had
died when they were tiny babies. She loved and cared for Harry all
the more because she had lost the others. Now he was to be taken
from her and sold to cruel men, and she would never see him again.
She felt she could not bear it.

Eliza’s husband was called George, and was a slave too. He did
not belong to Mr. Shelby, but to another man, who had a farm quite
near. George and Eliza could not live together as a husband and
wife generally do. Indeed, they hardly ever saw each other.
George’s master was a cruel man, and would not let him come to see
his wife. He was so cruel, and beat George so dreadfully, that the
poor slave made up his mind to run away. He had come that very day
to tell Eliza what he meant to do.

As soon as Mr. and Mrs. Shelby stopped talking, Eliza crept away
to her own room, where little Harry was sleeping. There he lay with
his pretty curls around his face. His rosy mouth was half open, his
fat little hands thrown out over the bed-clothes, and a smile like
a sunbeam upon his face.

‘My baby, my sweet-one,’ said Eliza, ‘they have sold you. But
mother will save you yet!’

She did not cry. She was too sad and sorrowful for that. Taking
a piece of paper and a pencil, she wrote quickly.

‘Oh, missis! dear missis! don’t think me ungrateful—don’t
think hard of me, anyway! I heard all you and master said to-night.
I am going to try to save my boy—you will not blame me I God
bless and reward you for all your kindness!’

Eliza was going to run away.

She gathered a few of Harry’s clothes into a bundle, put on her
hat and jacket, and went to wake him.

Poor Harry was rather frightened at being waked in the middle of
the night, and at seeing his mother bending over him, with her hat
and jacket on.

‘What is the matter, mother?’ he said beginning to cry.

‘Hush,’ she said, ‘Harry mustn’t cry or speak aloud, or they
will hear us. A wicked man was coming to take little Harry away
from his mother, and carry him ‘way off in the dark. But mother
won’t let him. She’s going to put on her little boy’s cap and coat,
and run off with him, so the ugly man can’t catch him.’

Harry stopped crying at once, and was good and quiet as a little
mouse, while his mother dressed him. When he was ready, she lifted
him in her arms, and crept softly out of the house.

It was a beautiful, clear, starlight night, but very cold, for
it was winter-time. Eliza ran quickly to Uncle Tom’s cottage, and
tapped on the window.

Aunt Chloe was not asleep, so she jumped up at once, and opened
the door. She was very much astonished to see Eliza standing there
with Harry in her arms. Uncle Tom followed her to the door, and was
very much astonished too.

‘I’m running away, Uncle Tom and Aunt Chloe—carrying off
my child,’ said Eliza. ‘Master sold him.’

‘Sold him?’ they both echoed, lifting up their hands in
dismay.

‘Yes, sold him,’ said Eliza. ‘I heard master tell missis that he
had sold my Harry, and you, Uncle Tom. The man is coming to take
you away to-morrow.’

At first Tom could hardly believe what he heard. Then he sank
down, and buried his face in his hands.

‘The good Lord have pity on us!’ said Aunt Chloe. ‘What has Tom
done that master should sell him?’

‘He hasn’t done anything—it isn’t for that. Master don’t
want to sell; but he owes this man money. If he doesn’t pay him it
will end in his having to sell the house and all the slaves. Master
said he was sorry. But missis she talked like an angel. I’m a
wicked girl to leave her so, but I can’t help it. It must be right;
but if it an’t right, the good Lord will forgive me, for I can’t
help doing it.

‘Tom,’ said Aunt Chloe, ‘why don’t you go too? There’s
time.’

Tom slowly raised his head and looked sorrowfully at her.

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Let Eliza go. It is right that she should
try to save her boy. Mas’r has always trusted me, and I can’t leave
him like that. It is better for me to go alone than for the whole
place to be sold. Mas’r isn’t to blame, Chloe. He will take care of
you and the poor—’

Tom could say no more. Big man though he was, he burst into
tears, at the thought of leaving his wife and dear little children,
never to see them any more.

‘Aunt Chloe,’ said Eliza, in a minute or two, ‘I must go. I saw
my husband to-day. He told me he meant to run away soon, because
his master is so cruel to him. Try to send him a message from me.
Tell him I have run away to save our boy. Tell him to come after me
if he can. Good-bye, good-bye. God bless you!’

Then Eliza went out again into the dark night with her little
boy in her arms, and Aunt Chloe shut the door softly behind
her.

CHAPTER III

THE MORNING AFTER

Next morning, when it was discovered that Eliza had run away
with her little boy, there was great excitement and confusion all
over the house.

Mrs. Shelby was very glad. ‘Thank God!’ she said. ‘I hope Eliza
will get right away. I could not bear to think of Harry being sold
to that cruel man.’

Mr. Shelby was angry. ‘Haley knew I didn’t want to sell the
child,’ he said. ‘He will blame me for this.’

One person only was quite silent, and that was Aunt Chloe. She
went on, making the breakfast as if she heard and saw nothing of
the excitement round her.

All the little black boys belonging to the house thought it was
fine fun. Very soon, about a dozen young imps were roosting, like
so many crows, on the railings, waiting for Haley to come. They
wanted to see how angry he would be, when he heard the news.

And he was dreadfully angry. The little nigger boys thought it
was grand. They shouted and laughed and made faces at him to their
hearts’ content.

At last Haley became so angry, that Mr. Shelby offered to give
him two men to help him to find Eliza.

But these two men, Sam and Andy, knew quite well that Mrs.
Shelby did not want Eliza to be caught, so they put off as much
time as they could.

They let loose their horses and Haley’s too. Then they
frightened and chased them, till they raced like mad things all
over the great lawns which surrounded the house.

Whenever it seemed likely that a horse would be caught, Sam ran
up, waving his hat and shouting wildly, ‘Now for it! Cotch him!
Cotch him!’ This frightened the horses so much that they galloped
off faster than before.

Haley rushed up and down, shouting and using dreadful, naughty
words, and stamping with rage all the time.

At last, about twelve o’clock, Sam came riding up with Haley’s
horse. ‘He’s cotched,’ he said, seemingly very proud of himself. ‘I
cotched him!’

Of course, now it was too late to start before dinner. Besides,
the horses were so tired with all their running about, that they
had to have a rest.

When at last they did start, Sam led them by a wrong road. So
the sun was almost setting before they arrived at the village where
Haley hoped to find Eliza.

CHAPTER IV

THE CHASE

When Eliza left Uncle Tom’s cabin, she felt very sad and lonely.
She knew she was leaving all the friends she had ever had behind
her.

At first Harry was frightened. Soon he grew sleepy. ‘Mother, I
don’t need to keep awake, do I?’ he said.

‘No, my darling, sleep, if you want to.’

‘But, mother, if I do get asleep, you won’t let the bad man take
me?’

‘No!’

‘You’re sure, an’t you, mother?’

‘Yes, sure.’

Harry dropped his little weary head upon her shoulder, and was
soon fast asleep.

Eliza walked on and on, never resting, all through the night.
When the sun rose, she was many miles away from her old home. Still
she walked on, only stopping, in the middle of the day, to buy a
little dinner for herself and Harry at a farm-house.

At last, when it was nearly dark, she arrived at a village, on
the banks of the river Ohio. If she could only get across that
river, Eliza felt she would be safe.

She went to a little inn on the bank, where a kind-looking woman
was busy cooking supper.

‘Is there a boat that takes people across the river now?’ she
asked.

‘No, indeed,’ replied the woman. ‘The boats has stopped running.
It isn’t safe, there be too many blocks of ice floating about.’

Eliza looked so sad and disappointed when she heard this, that
the good woman was sorry for her. Harry too was so tired, that he
began to cry.

‘Here, take him into this room,’ said the woman, opening the
door into a small bed-room.

Eliza laid her tired little boy upon the bed, and he soon fell
fast asleep. But for her there was no rest. She stood at the
window, watching the river with its great floating blocks of ice,
wondering how she could cross it.

As she stood there she heard a shout. Looking up she saw Sam.
She drew back just in time, for Haley and Andy were riding only a
yard or two behind him.

It was a dreadful moment for Eliza. Her room opened by a side
door to the river. She seized her child and sprang down the steps
towards it.

Haley caught sight of her as she disappeared down the bank.
Throwing himself from his horse, and calling loudly to Sam and
Andy, he was after her in a moment.

In that terrible moment her feet scarcely seemed to touch the
ground. The next, she was at the water’s edge.

On they came behind her. With one wild cry and flying leap, she
jumped right over the water by the shore, on to the raft of ice
beyond. It was a desperate leap. Haley, Sam, and Andy cried out,
and lifted up their hands in astonishment.

The great piece of ice pitched and creaked as her weight came
upon it. But she stayed there not a moment. With wild cries she
leaped to another and still
another—stumbling—leaping—slipping—springing
up again!

Her shoes were gone, her stockings cut from her feet by the
sharp edges of the ice. Blood marked every step. But she knew
nothing, felt nothing, till dimly, as in a dream, she saw the Ohio
side, and a man helping her up the bank.

‘Yer a brave gal, now, whoever ye are!’ said the man.

‘Oh, save me—do save me—do hide me,’ she cried.

‘Why, what’s the matter?’ asked the man.

‘My child! this boy—mas’r sold him. There’s his new
mas’r,’ she said, pointing to the other shore. ‘Oh, save me.’

‘Yer a right brave gal,’ said the man. ‘Go there,’ pointing to a
big white house close by. ‘They are kind folks; they’ll help
you.’

‘Oh, thank you, thank you,’ said Eliza, as she walked quickly
away. The man stood and looked after her wonderingly.

On the other side of the river Haley was standing perfectly
amazed at the scene. When Eliza disappeared over the bank he turned
and looked at Sam and Andy, with terrible anger in his eyes.

But Sam and Andy were glad, oh, so glad, that Eliza had escaped.
They were so glad that they laughed till the tears rolled down
their cheeks.

‘I’ll make ye laugh,’ said Haley, laying about their heads with
his riding whip.

They ducked their heads, ran shouting up the bank, and were on
their horses before he could reach them.

‘Good evening, mas’r,’ said Sam. ‘I berry much ‘spect missis be
anxious ’bout us. Mas’r Haley won’t want us no longer.’ Then off
they went as fast as their horses could gallop.

It was late at night before they reached home again, but Mrs.
Shelby was waiting for them. As soon as she heard the horses
galloping up she ran out to the balcony.

‘Is that you, Sam?’ she called. ‘Where are they?’

‘Mas’r Haley’s a-restin’ at the tavern. He’s drefful fatigued,
missis.’

‘And Eliza, Sam?’

‘Come up here, Sam,’ called Mr. Shelby, who had followed his
wife, ‘and tell your mistress what she wants to know.’

So Sam went up and told the wonderful story of how Eliza had
crossed the river on the floating ice. Mr. and Mrs. Shelby found it
hard to believe that such a thing was possible.

Mrs. Shelby was very, very glad that Eliza had escaped. She told
Aunt Chloe to give Sam and Andy a specially good supper. Then they
went to bed quite pleased with their day’s work.

CHAPTER V

ELIZA FINDS A REFUGE

A lady and gentleman were sitting talking happily together in
the drawing-room of the white house to which Eliza had gone.
Suddenly their old black man-of-all-work put his head in at the
door and said, ‘Will missis come into the kitchen?’

The lady went. Presently she called to her husband, ‘I do wish
you would come here a moment.’

He rose and went into the kitchen.

There lay Eliza on two kitchen chairs. Her poor feet were all
cut and bleeding, and she had fainted quite away. The master of the
house drew his breath short, and stood silent.

His wife and the cook were trying to bring Eliza round. The old
man had Harry on his knee, and was busy pulling off his shoes and
stockings, to warm the little cold feet.

‘Poor creature,’ said the lady.

Suddenly Eliza opened her eyes. A dreadful look of pain came
into her face. She sprang up saying, ‘Oh, my Harry, have they got
him?’

As soon as he heard her voice, Harry jumped from the old man’s
knee, and running to her side, put up his arms.

‘Oh, he’s here! he’s here,’ she said, kissing him. ‘Oh, ma’am,’
she went, on turning wildly to the lady of the house, ‘do protect
us, don’t let them get him.’

‘Nobody shall hurt you here, poor woman,’ said the lady. ‘You
are safe; don’t be afraid.’

‘God bless you,’ said Eliza, covering her face and sobbing,
while Harry, seeing her crying, tried to get into her lap to
comfort her.

‘You needn’t be afraid of anything; we are friends here, poor
woman. Tell me where you come from and what you want,’ said the
lady.

‘I came from the other side of the river,’ said Eliza.

‘When?’ said the gentleman, very much astonished.

‘To-night.’

‘How did you come?’

‘I crossed on the ice.’

‘Crossed on the ice!’ exclaimed every one.

‘Yes,’ said Eliza slowly, ‘I did. God helped me, and I crossed
on the ice. They were close behind me—right behind, and there
was no other way.’

‘Law, missis,’ said the old servant, ‘the ice is all in broken
up blocks, a-swinging up and down in the water.’

‘I know it is. I know it,’ said Eliza wildly. ‘But I did it. I
would’nt have thought I could—I didn’t think I could get
over, but I didn’t care. I could but die if I didn’t. And God
helped me.’

‘Were you a slave?’ said the gentleman.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Was your master unkind to you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Was your mistress unkind to you?’

‘No, sir—no. My mistress was always good to me.’

‘What could make you leave a good home, then, and run away, and
go through such danger?’

‘They wanted to take my boy away from me—to sell
him—to sell him down south, ma’am. To go all alone—a
baby that had never been away from his mother in his life. I
couldn’t bear it. I took him, and ran away in the night. They
chased me, they were coming down close behind me, and I heard ’em.
I jumped right on to the ice. How I got across I don’t know. The
first I knew, a man was helping me up the bank.’

It was such a sad story, that the tears came into the eyes of
everyone who heard her tell it.

‘Where do you mean to go to, poor woman?’ asked the lady.

‘To Canada, if I only knew where that was. Is it very far off,
is Canada’? said Eliza, looking up in a simple, trusting way, to
the kind lady’s face.

‘Poor woman,’ said she again.

‘Is it a great way off?’ asked Eliza.

‘Yes,’ said the lady of the house sadly, ‘it is far away. But we
will try to help you to get there.’ Eliza wanted to go to Canada,
because it belonged to the British. They did not allow any one to
be made a slave there. George, too, was going to try to reach
Canada.

‘Wife,’ said the gentleman, when they had gone back again into
their own sitting-room, ‘we must get that poor woman away to-night.
She is not safe here. I know some good people, far in the country,
who will take care of her.’

So this kind gentleman got the carriage ready, and drove Eliza
and her boy a long, long way, through the dark night, to a cottage
far in the country. There he left her with a good man and his wife,
who promised to be kind to her, and help her to go to Canada. He
gave some money to the good man too, and told him to use it for
Eliza.

CHAPTER VI

UNCLE TOM SAYS GOOD-BYE

The day after the hunt for Eliza was a very sad one in Uncle
Tom’s cabin. It was the day on which Haley was going to take Uncle
Tom away.

Aunt Chloe had been up very early. She had washed and ironed all
Tom’s clothes, and packed his trunk neatly. Now she was cooking the
breakfast,—the last breakfast she would ever cook for her
dear husband. Her eyes were quite red and swollen with crying, and
the tears kept running down her cheeks all the time.

‘It’s the last time,’ said Tom sadly.

Aunt Chloe could not answer. She sat down, buried her face in
her hands, and sobbed aloud.

‘S’pose we must be resigned. But, O Lord, how can I? If I knew
anything where you was goin’, or how they’d treat you! Missis says
she’ll try and buy you back again in a year or two. But, Lor’,
nobody never comes back that goes down there.’

‘There’ll be the same God there, Chloe, that there is here.’

‘Well,’ said Aunt Chloe, ‘s’pose dere will. But the Lord lets
drefful things happen sometimes. I don’t seem to get no comfort dat
way.’

‘Let’s think on our mercies,’ said Tom, in a shaking voice.

‘Mercies!’ said Aunt Chloe, ‘don’t see any mercies in ‘t. It
isn’t right! it isn’t right it should be so! Mas’r never ought to
have left it so that ye could be took for his debts. Mebbe he can’t
help himself now, but I feel it’s wrong. Nothing can beat that out
of me. Such a faithful crittur as ye’ve been, reckonin’ on him more
than your own wife and chil’en.’

‘Chloe! now, if ye love me, you won’t talk so, when it is
perhaps jest the last time we’ll ever have together,’ said Tom.

‘Wall, anyway, there’s wrong about it somewhere,’ said Aunt
Chloe, ‘I can’t jest make out where ’tis. But there is wrong
somewhere, I’m sure of that.’

Neither Tom nor Chloe could eat any breakfast; their hearts were
too full of sorrow. But the little children, who hardly understood
what was happening, enjoyed theirs. It was not often that they had
such a fine one as Chloe had cooked for Tom’s last morning at
home.

Breakfast was just finished, when Mrs. Shelby came. Chloe was
not very pleased to see her. She was angry, and blamed her for
letting Tom be sold.

But Mrs. Shelby did not seem to see Aunt Chloe’s angry looks.
‘Tom,’ she said, turning to him, ‘I come to—’ she could say
no more, she was crying so bitterly.

Then all Aunt Chloe’s anger faded away.

‘Lor’, now missis, don’t-don’t,’ she said. She too burst out
crying again, and for a few minutes they all sobbed together.

‘Tom,’ said Mrs. Shelby at last, ‘I can’t do anything for you
now. But I promise you, most solemnly, to save as much, money as I
can. As soon as I have enough, I will buy you back again.’

Just then Haley arrived. Tom said a last sad good-bye to his
wife and children, and got into the cart, which Haley had brought
with him.

As soon as Tom was seated in the cart, Haley took a heavy chain,
and fastened it round his ankles. Poor Tom had done nothing wrong,
yet he was treated worse than a thief, just because he was a
slave.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ said Mrs. Shelby, ‘Tom won’t run
away.’

‘Don’t know so much about that, ma’am; I’ve lost one already. I
can’t afford to run any more risks,’ replied Haley.

‘Please give my love to Mas’r George,’ said Tom, looking round
sadly. ‘Tell him how sorry I am he is not at home to say
good-bye.’

Master George was Mr. and Mrs. Shelby’s son. He was very fond of
Tom, and was teaching him to write. He often used to come and have
tea in Uncle Tom’s little cottage. Aunt Chloe used to make her very
nicest cakes when Mas’r George came to tea. But he was not at home
now, and did not know that Tom had been sold.

Haley whipped up the horse, and, with a last sad look at the old
place, Tom was whirled away to a town called Washington.

CHAPTER VII

UNCLE TOM MEETS EVA

Haley stayed in Washington several days. He went to market each
day and bought more slaves. He put heavy chains on their hands and
feet, and sent them to prison along with Tom.

When he had bought all the slaves he wanted, and was ready to
go, he drove them before him, like a herd of cattle, on to a boat
which was going south.

It was a beautiful boat. The deck was gay with lovely ladies and
fine gentlemen walking about enjoying the bright spring
sunshine.

Down on the lower deck, in the dark, among the luggage, were
crowded Tom and the other poor slaves.

Some of the ladies and gentlemen on board were very sorry for
the poor niggers, and pitied them. Others never thought about them
at all, or if they did, thought it was quite just and proper that
they should be treated badly. ‘They are only slaves,’ they
said.

Among the passengers was a pretty little girl, about six years
old. She had beautiful golden hair, and big blue eyes. She ran
about here, there, and everywhere, dancing and laughing like a
little fairy. There were other children on board, but not one so
pretty or so merry as she. She was always dressed in white, and Tom
thought she looked like a little angel, as she danced and ran
about.

Often and often she would come and walk sadly around the place
where the poor slaves sat in their chains. She would look pityingly
at them, and then go slowly away. Once or twice she came with her
dress full of sweets, nuts, and oranges, and gave them all
some.

Tom watched the little lady, and tried to make friends with her.
His pockets were full of all kinds of things, with which he used to
amuse his old master’s children.

He could make whistles of every sort and size, cut baskets out
of cherry-stones, faces out of nut-shells, jumping figures out of
bits of wood. He brought these out one by one, and though the
little girl was shy at first, they soon grew to be great
friends.

‘What is missy’s name?’ said Tom one day.

‘Evangeline St. Clare,’ said the little girl; ‘though papa and
everybody else call me Eva. Now, what’s your name?’

‘My name’s Tom. The little chil’en at my old home used to call
me Uncle Tom.’

‘Then I mean to call you Uncle Tom, because, you see, I like
you,’ said Eva. ‘So, Uncle Tom, where are you going?’

‘I don’t know, Miss Eva.’

‘Don’t know?’ said Eva.

‘No. I’m going to be sold to somebody. I don’t know who.’

‘My papa can buy you, said Eva quickly. ‘If he buys you you will
have good times. I mean to ask him to, this very day.’

‘Thank you, my little lady,’ said Tom.

Just at this moment, the boat stopped at a small landing-place
to take in some wood. Eva heard her father’s voice, and ran away to
speak to him.

Tom too rose and walked to the side. He was allowed to go about
now without chains. He was so good and gentle, that even a man like
Haley could not help seeing that it could do no harm to let him go
free.

Tom helped the sailors to carry the wood on the boat. He was so
big and strong that they were very glad to have his help.

Eva and her father were standing by the railings as the boat
once more began to move. It had hardly left the landing-stage when,
some how or other, Eva lost her balance. She fell right over the
side of the boat into the water.

Tom was standing just under her, on the lower deck, as she fell.
In one moment he sprang after her. The next he had caught her his
arms, and was swimming with her to the boat-side, where eager hands
were held out to take her.

The whole boat was in confusion. Every one ran to help Eva,
while the poor slave went back to his place, unnoticed and uncared
for.

But Mr. St. Clare did not forget.

The next day Tom sat on the lower deck, with folded arms,
anxiously watching him as he talked to Haley.

Eva’s father was a very handsome man. He was like Eva, with the
same beautiful blue eyes and golden-brown hair. He was very fond of
fun and laughter, and though he had quite made up his mind to buy
Tom, he was now teasing Haley, and pretending to think that he was
asking too much money for him.

‘Papa do buy him, it’s no matter what you pay’, whispered Eva
softly, putting her arms around her father’s neck. ‘You have money
enough, I know. I want him.’

‘What for, pussy? Are you going to use him for a rattle-box, or
a rocking-horse, or what?’

‘I want to make him happy.’

Mr. St. Clare laughed; but after making a few more jokes about
it, he gave Haley the money he asked for, and Tom had a new
master.

‘Come, Eva,’ said Mr. St. Clare, and, taking her hand, went
across the boat to Tom.

‘Look up, Tom,’ he said to him, ‘and see how you like your new
master.’

Tom looked up. Mr. St. Clare had such a gay, young, handsome
face, that Tom could not help feeling glad. Grateful tears rushed
to his eyes as he said, ‘God bless you, mas’r.’

‘Can you drive horses, Tom?’

‘I’ve been allays used to horses,’ said Tom.

‘Well, I think I’ll make you a coachman. But you must not get
drunk.’

Tom looked surprised and a little hurt.

‘I never drink’, mas’r,’ he said.

‘Never mind, my boy,’ said Mr. St. Clare, seeing him look so
grave; ‘I don’t doubt you mean to do well.’

‘I certainly do, mas’r,’ said Tom.

‘And you shall have good times,’ said Eva. ‘Papa is very good to
everybody, only he always will laugh at them.’

‘Papa is much obliged to you,’ said Mr. St. Clare laughing, as
he walked away.

CHAPTER VIII

ELIZA AMONG THE QUAKERS

While Uncle Tom was sailing South, down the wide river, to his
new master’s home, Eliza with her boy was travelling north to
Canada.

Kind people helped her all the way. She passed from friend to
friend, till she arrived safely at a village where the people were
Quakers.

The Quakers were gentle, quiet people. They all dressed alike in
plain grey clothes, and the women wore big, white muslin caps.
Because they thought it was wicked to have slaves, they helped
those who ran away from their cruel masters. Often they were
punished for doing this, but still they went on helping the poor
slaves. For though the laws said it was wrong, they felt quite sure
that it was really right to do so.

The kind Quaker women grew to be very fond of Eliza, and would
have been glad if she would have stayed with them.

But Eliza said, ‘No, I must go on; I dare not stop. I can’t
sleep at night: I can’t rest. Last night I dreamed I saw that man
come into the yard.’

‘Poor child,’ said Rachel, the kind Quaker woman to whom she was
speaking, ‘poor child, thee mustn’t feel so. No slave that has run
away has ever been stolen from our village. It is safe here.’

While they were talking, Simeon, Rachel’s husband, came to the
door and called, ‘Wife, I want to speak to thee a minute.’

Rachel went out to him. ‘Eliza’s husband is here,’ he said.

‘Art thee sure?’ asked Rachel, her face bright with joy.

‘Yes, quite certain; he will be here soon. Will thee tell
her?’

Rachel went back into the kitchen, where Eliza was sewing, and,
opening the door of a small bedroom, said gently, ‘Come in here
with me, my daughter; I have news to tell thee.’

Eliza rose trembling, she was so afraid it was bad news.

‘No, no! never fear thee. It’s good news, Eliza,’ said
Simeon,

Rachel shut the door, and drew Eliza towards her. ‘The Lord has
been very good to thee,’ she said gently. ‘Thy husband hath
escaped, and will be here to-night.’

‘To-night!’ repeated Eliza, ‘to-night!’

Then it seemed as if the room and everything in it swam round
her, and she fell into Rachel’s arms.

Very gently Rachel laid her down on the bed. Eliza slept as she
had not slept since the dreadful night when she had taken her boy
and run away through the cold, dark night.

She dreamed of a beautiful country—a land, it seemed to
her, of rest—green shores, pleasant islands, and lovely
glittering water. There in a house, which kind voices told her was
her home, she saw Harry playing happily. She heard her husband’s
footstep. She felt him coming nearer. His arms were around her, his
tears falling upon her face, and she awoke.

It was no dream. The sun had set, the candles were lit. Harry
was sleeping by her side, and George, her husband, was holding her
in his arms.

CHAPTER IX

UNCLE TOM’S NEW HOME

Uncle Tom soon settled down in his new home. He was as happy as
he could be, so far away from his wife and dear little children. He
had a kind master.

Mrs. St. Clare, however, was not nearly so nice as her husband.
She was cruel, and would often have beaten her poor slaves, but Mr.
St. Clare would not allow it.

She always pretended that she was very ill, and spent most of
her time lying on a sofa, or driving about in her comfortable
carriage.

Mrs. St. Clare said she really was too ill to look after the
house, so everything was left to the slaves. Soon things began to
be very uncomfortable, and even good-natured Mr. St. Clare could
stand it no longer.

He went to his cousin, Miss Ophelia St. Clare, and begged her to
come and keep house for him, and to look after Eva. It was on the
journey back with her that the accident to Eva happened, which
ended in his buying Tom.

Miss Ophelia was a very prim and precise person, not at all like
the St. Clares. In her home people did not have slaves. Though her
cousin had a great many, and was kind to them, she could not help
seeing that it was a very wicked thing to buy and sell men and
women as if they were cattle. She was very, very sorry for the poor
slaves, and would have liked to free them all. Yet she did not love
them. She could not bear even to have them near her, nor to touch
them, just because they were black.

It made her quite ill to see Eva kissing and hugging the black
slave women when she came home.

‘Well, I couldn’t do that,’ she said.

‘Why not?’ said Mr. St. Clare, who was looking on.

‘Well, I want to be kind to every one. I wouldn’t have anybody
hurt. But, as to kissing niggers—’ she gave a little shudder.
‘How can she?’

Presently a gay laugh sounded from the court. Mr. St. Clare
stepped out to see what was happening.

‘What is it?’ said Miss Ophelia, following him.

There sat Tom on a little mossy seat in the court. Every one of
his buttonholes was stuck full of flowers. Eva, laughing gaily, was
hanging a wreath of roses round his neck. Then, still laughing, she
perched on his knee like a little sparrow.

‘Oh, Tom, you look so funny!’

Tom had a sober smile on his face. He seemed in his own quiet
way to be enjoying the fun quite as much as his little mistress.
When he lifted his eyes and saw his master he looked as if he were
afraid he might be scolded. But Mr. St. Clare only smiled.

‘How can you let her do that?’ said Miss Ophelia.

‘Why not?’ said Mr. St. Clare.

‘Why? I don’t know. It seems dreadful to me.’

‘You would think it was quite right and natural if you saw Eva
playing with a large dog, even if he was black. But a
fellow-creature that can think, and reason, and feel, and is
immortal, you shudder at. I know how you north-country people feel
about it. You loathe the blacks as you would a toad or a snake. Yet
you pity them, and are angry because they are often
ill-treated.’

‘Well, cousin,’ said Miss Ophelia thoughtfully, ‘I daresay you
are right. I suppose I must try to get over my feeling.’

CHAPTER X

UNCLE TOM’S LETTER

Uncle Tom felt that he was indeed very fortunate to have found
such a kind master and so good a home. He had nice clothes, plenty
of food, and a comfortable room to sleep in. He had no hard,
disagreeable work to do. His chief duties were to drive Mrs. St.
Clare’s carriage when she wanted to go out, and to attend on Eva
when she wanted him. He soon grew to love his little mistress very,
very much indeed.

Mr. St. Clare too began to find Tom very useful. He was
dreadfully careless about money, and his chief servant was just as
careless as his master. So between them a great deal was not only
spent but wasted.

Mr. Shelby had trusted Tom in everything, and Tom had always
been careful of his master’s money—as careful as if it had
been his own. Waste seemed dreadful to him, and he tried to do
something to stop it now.

Mr. St. Clare was not long in finding out how clever Tom was,
and soon trusted him as thoroughly as Mr. Shelby had done.

But in spite of all his good fortune, Tom used to long very much
to go home to see his dear ones again. He had plenty of spare time,
and whenever he had nothing to do he would pull his Bible out of
his pocket and try to find comfort in reading it.

But as time went on, Uncle Tom longed more and more for his
home. At last one day he had a grand idea. He would write a
letter.

Before Uncle Tom was sold, George Shelby had been teaching him
to write so he thought he could manage a letter.

He begged a sheet of writing-paper from Eva, and going to his
room began to make a rough copy on his slate.

It was very difficult. Poor Uncle Tom found that he had quite
forgotten how to make some of the letters. Of those he did
remember, he was not quite sure which he ought to use. Yes, it was
a very difficult thing indeed.

While he was working away, breathing very hard over it, Eva came
behind him, and peeped over his shoulder.

‘Oh, Uncle Tom! what funny things you are making there!’

Eva put her little golden head close to Uncle Tom’s black one,
and the two began a grave and anxious talk over the letter. They
were both very earnest, and both very ignorant. But after a great
deal of consulting over every word, the writing began, they really
thought, to look quite like a proper letter.

‘Yes, Uncle Tom, it begins to look beautiful,’ said Eva, gazing
on it with delight. ‘How pleased your wife will be, and the poor
little children! Oh, it is a shame that you ever had to go away
from them! I mean to ask papa to let you go back, some day.’

‘Missis said that she would send down money for me, as soon as
they could get it together,’ said Tom. ‘Young Mas’r George, he said
he’d come for me. He gave me this dollar as a sign,’ and Tom drew
the precious dollar from under his coat.

‘Oh, he is sure to come, then,’ said Eva, ‘I am so glad.’

‘I wanted to send a letter, you see, to let ’em know where I
was, and tell poor Chloe that I was well off, ’cause she felt so
dreadful, poor soul.’

‘I say, Tom,’ said Mr. St. Clare, coming in at the door at this
minute.

Tom and Eva both started.

‘What’s this?’ Mr. St. Clare went on, coming up and looking at
the slate.

‘Oh, it’s Tom’s letter. I’m helping him to write it,’ said Eva.
‘Isn’t it nice?’

‘I wouldn’t discourage either of you,’ said her father; ‘but I
rather think, Tom, you had better let me write your letter for you.
I’ll do it when I come home from my ride.’

‘It is very important that he should write,’ said Eva, ‘because
his mistress is going to send money to buy him back again, you
know, papa. He told me they had said so.’

Mr. St. Clare thought in his heart that very likely this meant
nothing. He thought it was only one of these things which
good-natured people said to their slaves to comfort them when they
were taken away from their dear ones to be sold. He did not really
believe Mrs. Shelby meant to buy Tom back again. However, he did
not say so out loud, but just told Tom to get the horses ready for
a ride.

That evening the letter was written, and Uncle Tom carried it
joyfully to the post-office.

CHAPTER XII

GEORGE FIGHTS FOR FREEDOM

The day after George and Eliza met each other once more at the
end of so many sad months of parting, was a very happy one in the
Quaker house.

The two had much to say to each other. George had to tell how he
had escaped from his cruel master, and how he had followed Eliza
all the way and at last found her. Then there were plans to make
for going on towards Canada. It was arranged that they should start
that night at ten o’clock. ‘The pursuers are hard after thee, we
must not delay,’ said Simeon.

Rachel was happy and busy, packing up food and clothes for them
to take on the journey.

Late in the afternoon another Quaker, called Phineas, came with
the dreadful news that the wicked men, whom Haley had sent to catch
Eliza, were only a few miles away.

So George and Eliza decided to start as soon as it was dark. A
little while after supper a large covered waggon drew up before the
door. They got in and the waggon drove off.

On and on, all through the dark night they drove. About three
o’clock, George heard the click of a horse’s hoof coming behind
them.

‘That’s Simeon,’ said Phineas, who was driving, as he pulled up
the horses to listen.

‘Halloa, there, Simeon,’ he shouted, ‘what news? Are they
coming?’

‘Yes, right on behind, eight or ten of them.’

‘Oh! what shall we do?’ groaned Eliza.

But Phineas knew the road well. He lashed the horses till they
flew along, the waggon rattling and jumping over the hard road
behind them.

On they went till they came to a place where the rocks rose
straight up from the road like a wall. It seemed impossible for any
one to climb up there. But Phineas knew a way.

He stopped the horses. ‘Here, Simeon,’ he said, ‘take the
waggon, and drive on as fast as thou canst, and bring back help.
Now follow me,’ he said to the others, ‘quick, for your lives. Run
now, if you you ever did run.’

Quicker than we can say it, they were following him up a tiny
narrow path to the top of the rocks, and Simeon was galloping the
horses with the empty waggon along the road.

‘We are pretty safe here,’ said Phineas, when they had reached
the top. ‘Only one person can come up that path at a time. If any
one tries it, shoot him.’

The men who were chasing them had now arrived at the foot of of
the rocks. They were led by a big man called Tom Loker, and another
mean-looking little man, whom Haley had sent.

After some hunting about, they found the path, and, headed by
Tom Loker, began to climb up.

‘Come up if you like,’ George called out, ‘but if you do we will
shoot you.’

For answer, the little man took aim at George, and fired.

Eliza screamed, but the shot did not hurt him. It passed close
to his hair, nearly touched her cheek, and, struck a tree
behind.

Tom Loker came on. George waited until he was near enough, then
he fired. The shot hit him in the side. But, though wounded, he
would not go back. With a yell like that of a mad bull he came
leaping on, and sprang right in among them.

Quakers are not allowed to use guns and pistols, so Phineas had
been standing back while George shot. Now he sprang forward. As Tom
Loker landed in the middle of them, he gave him a great push,
saying, ‘Friend, thee isn’t wanted here.’

Down fell Tom Loker, down, down the steep side of the rock. He
crashed and crackled among trees, bushes, logs, loose stones, till
he lay bruised and groaning far below. The fall might have killed
him, had it not been broken by his clothes catching on the branches
of a large tree.

Cruel people are, very often, cowardly too. When the men saw
their leader first wounded, and then thrown down, they all ran
away.

Mounting their horses, they rode off as fast as they could,
leaving Tom Loker lying on the ground wounded and groaning with
pain.

As soon as Phineas and the others saw that the wicked men had
really ridden away, they climbed down, meaning to walk along the
road till they met Simeon.

They had just reached the bottom, when they saw him coming back
with the waggon and two other men.

‘Now we are safe,’ cried Phineas joyfully.

‘Well, do stop then,’ said Eliza, ‘and do something for that
poor man. He is groaning dreadfully.’

‘It would be no more than Christian,’ said George. ‘Let us take
him with us.’

They lifted the wounded man gently, as if he had been a friend
instead of a cruel enemy, and laid him in the waggon. Then they all
set out once more.

A drive of about an hour brought them to a neat farm-house. There
the tired travellers were kindly received and given a good
breakfast.

Tom Loker was put into a comfortable bed, far cleaner and softer
than any he had ever slept in before. George and Eliza walked about
the garden hand-in-hand, feeling happy together, and almost safe.
They were so near Canada now.

CHAPTER XIII

AUNT DINAH

Miss Ophelia found that it was no easy matter to bring anything
like order into the St. Clare household. The slaves had been left
to themselves so long, and had grown so untidy, that they were not
at all pleased with Miss Feely, as they called her, for trying to
make them be tidy. However, she had quite made up her mind that
order there must be. She got up at four o’clock in the morning,
much to the surprise of the housemaids. All day long she was busy
dusting and tidying, till Mrs. St. Clare said it made her tired to
see cousin Ophelia so busy.

CHAPTER XIV

TOPSY

One morning, while Miss Ophelia was busy, as usual, she heard
Mr. St. Clare calling her from the foot of the stairs.

‘Come down here, cousin. I have something to show you.’

‘What is it?’ said Miss Ophelia, coming down with her sewing in
her hand.

‘I have bought something for you. See here,’ he said, pulling
forward a little negro girl of about eight or nine years old.

She was quite black. Her round, shining eyes glittered like
glass beads. Her wooly hair was plaited into little tails which
stuck out in all directions. Her clothes were dirty and ragged.
Miss Ophelia thought she had never seen such a dreadful little girl
in all her life.

‘Cousin, what in the world have you brought that thing here
for?’ she asked, in dismay.

‘For you to teach, to be sure, and train in the way she should
go,’ said Mr. St. Clare, laughing. ‘Topsy,’ he went on, ‘this is
your new mistress. See, now, that you behave yourself.’

‘Yes, mas’r,’ said Topsy gravely, but her eyes had a wicked
twinkle in them.

‘You’re going to be good, Topsy, you understand?’ said Mr. St.
Clare.

‘Oh yes, mas’r’ said Topsy again, meekly folding her hands, but
with another twinkle in her eyes.

‘Now cousin, what is this for? Your house is full of these
little plagues as it is. I get up in the morning and find one
asleep behind the door; see one black head poking out from under
the table; another lying on the mat. They tumble over the kitchen
floor, so that a body can’t put their foot down without treading on
them. What on earth did you want to bring this one for?’

‘For you to teach, didn’t I tell you?’

‘I don’t want her, I’m sure. I have more to do with them now
than I want.’

‘Well the fact is, cousin,’ said Mr. St. Clare, drawing her
aside, ‘she belonged to some people who were dreadfully cruel and
beat her. I couldn’t bear to hear her screaming every day, so I
bought her. I will give her to you. Do try and make something of
her.’

‘Well, I’ll do what I can,’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘She is fearfully
dirty, and half naked.’

‘Well, take her downstairs, and tell somebody to clean her up,
and give her some decent clothes.’

Getting Topsy clean was a very long business. But at last it was
done.

Then, sitting down before her, Miss Ophelia began to question
her.

‘How old are you, Topsy?’

‘Dunno, missis,’ said she, grinning like an ugly little black
doll.

‘Don’t know how old you are! Did nobody ever tell you? Who was
your mother?’

‘Never had none,’ said Topsy, with another grin.

‘Never had any mother! What do you mean? Where were you
born?’

‘Never was born.’

‘You mustn’t answer me like that, child,’ said Miss Ophelia
sternly. ‘I am not playing with you. Tell me where you were born,
and who your father and mother were.’

‘Never was born,’ said Topsy again very decidedly. ‘Never had no
father, nor mother, nor nothin!’

Miss Ophelia hardly knew what to make of her. ‘How long have you
lived with your master and mistress, then?’ she asked.

‘Dunno, missis.’

‘Is it a year, or more, or less?’

‘Dunno, missis.’

‘Have you ever heard anything about God, Topsy?’ asked Miss
Ophelia next.

Topsy looked puzzled, but kept on grinning.

‘Do you know who made you?’

‘Nobody as I knows on,’ replied Topsy, with a laugh. ‘Spect I
grow’d. Don’t think nobody ever made me.’

‘Do you know how to sew?’ asked Miss Ophelia, quite shocked.

‘No, missis.’

‘What can you do? What did you do for your master and
mistress?’

‘Fetch water, and wash dishes, and clean knives, and wait on
folks.’

‘Well, now, Topsy, I’m going to show you just how my bed is to
be made. I am very particular about my bed. You must learn exactly
how to do it.’

‘Yes, missis,’ said Topsy, with a deep sigh and a face of woeful
earnestness.

‘Now, Topsy, look here. This is the hem of the sheet. This is
the right side of the sheet. This is the wrong. Will you
remember?’

‘Yes, missis,’ said Topsy with another sigh.

‘Well, now, the under-sheet you must bring over the
bolster—so, and tuck it right down under the mattress nice
and smooth—so. Do you see?’

‘Yes, missis.’

‘But the upper sheet,’ said Miss Ophelia, ‘must be brought down
in this way, and tucked under, firm and smooth, at the
foot—so, the narrow hem at the foot.’

‘Yes, missis,’ said Topsy as before. But while Miss Ophelia was
bending over the bed she had quickly seized a pair of gloves and a
ribbon, which were lying on the dressing-table, and slipped them up
her sleeves. When Miss Ophelia looked up again, the naughty little
girl was standing with meekly-folded hand as before.

‘Now, Topsy, let me see you do this,’ said Miss Ophelia, pulling
the clothes off again and seating herself.

Topsy, looking very earnest, did it all just as she had been
shown. She did it so quickly and well that Miss Ophelia was very
pleased. But, alas! as she was finishing, an end of ribbon came
dangling out of her sleeve.

‘What is this?’ said Miss Ophelia, seizing it. ‘You naughty,
wicked child—you have been stealing this.’

The ribbon was pulled out of Topsy’s own sleeve. Yet she did not
seem a bit ashamed. She only looked at it with an air of surprise
and innocence.

‘Why, that’s Miss Feely’s ribbon, an’t it? How could it a got
into my sleeve?’

‘Topsy, you naughty girl, don’t tell me a lie. You stole that
ribbon,’

‘Missis, I declare I didn’t. Never seed it till dis blessed
minnit.’

‘Topsy,’ said Miss Ophelia, ‘don’t you know it is wicked to tell
lies?’

‘I never tells no lies, Miss Feely,’ said Topsy. ‘It’s jist the
truth I’ve been, tellin’ now. It an’t nothin’ else.’

‘Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so.’

‘Laws, missis, if you whip’s all day, couldn’t say no other
way,’ said Topsy, beginning to cry. ‘I never seed dat ribbon. It
must a caught in my sleeve. Miss Feely must’a left it on the bed,
and it got caught in the clothes, and so got in my sleeve.’

Miss Ophelia was so angry at such a barefaced lie that she
caught Topsy and shook her. ‘Don’t tell me that again,’ she
said.

The shake brought the gloves on the floor from the other
sleeve.

‘There,’ said Miss Ophelia, ‘will you tell me now you didn’t
steal the ribbon?’

Topsy now confessed to stealing the gloves. But she, still said
she had not taken the ribbon.

‘Now, Topsy’, said Miss Ophelia kindly, ‘if you will confess all
about it I won’t whip you this time.’

So Topsy confessed to having stolen both the ribbon and the
gloves. She said she was very, very sorry, and would never do it
again.

‘Well, now, tell me,’ said Miss Ophelia, ‘have you taken
anything else since you have been in the house? If you confess I
won’t whip you.’

‘Laws, missis, I took Miss Eva’s red thing she wears on her
neck.’

‘You did, you naughty child! Well, what else?’

‘I took Rosa’s ear-rings—them red ones.’

‘Go and bring them to me this minute—both of them.’

‘Laws, missis, I can’t—they’s burnt up.’

‘Burnt up? What a story! Go and get them, or I shall whip
you.’

Topsy began to cry and groan, and declare that she could not.
‘They’s burnt up, they is.’

‘What did you burn them up for?’ asked Miss Ophelia.

‘Cause I’s wicked, I is. I’s mighty wicked, anyhow. I can’t help
it.’

Just at this minute Eva came into the room wearing her coral
necklace.

‘Why, Eva, where did you get your necklace?’ said Miss
Ophelia.

‘Get it? Why, I have had it on all day,’ answered Eva, rather
surprised. ‘And what is funny, aunty, I had it on all night too. I
forgot to take it off when I went to bed.’

Miss Ophelia looked perfectly astonished. She was more
astonished still when, next minute, Rosa, who was one of the
housemaids, came in with a basket of clean clothes, wearing her
coral ear-rings as usual.

I’m sure I don’t know what to do with such a child,’ she said,
in despair. ‘What in the world made you tell me you took those
things, Topsy?’

‘Why, missis said I must ‘fess. I couldn’t think of nothing else
to ‘fess,’ said Topsy, wiping her eyes.

‘But of course, I didn’t want you to confess things you didn’t
do,’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘That is telling a lie just as much as the
other.’

‘Laws, now, is it?’ said Topsy, looking surprised and
innocent.

‘Poor Topsy,’ said Eva, ‘why need you steal? You are going to be
taken good care of now. I am sure I would rather give you anything
of mine than have you steal it.’

Topsy had never been spoken to so kindly and gently in all her
life. For a minute she looked as if she were going to cry. The next
she was grinning as usual in her ugly way.

What was to be done with Topsy? Miss Ophelia was quite puzzled.
She shut her up in a dark room till she could think about it.

‘I don’t see,’ she said to Mr. St. Clare, ‘how I am going to
manage that child without whipping her.’

‘Well, whip her, then.’

‘I never heard of bringing up children without it,’ said Miss
Ophelia.

‘Oh, well, do as you think best. Only, I have seen this child
beaten with a poker, knocked down with the shovel or tongs, or
anything that came handy. So I don’t think your beatings will have
much effect.’

‘What is to be done with her, then?’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘I never
saw such a child as this.’

But Mr. St. Clare could not answer her question. So Miss Ophelia
had to go on, as best she could, trying to make Topsy a good
girl.

She taught her to read and to sew. Topsy liked reading, and
learned her letters like magic. But she could not bear sewing. So
she broke her needles or threw them away. She tangled, broke, and
dirtied her cotton and hid her reels. Miss Ophelia felt sure all
these things could not be accidents. Yet she could never catch
Topsy doing them.

In a very few days Topsy had learned how to do Miss Ophelia’s
room perfectly, for she was very quick and clever. But if Miss
Ophelia ever left her to do it by herself there was sure to be
dreadful confusion.

Instead of making the bed, she would amuse herself with pulling
off the pillow-cases. Then she would butt her woolly head among the
pillows, until it was covered with feathers sticking out in all
directions. She would climb the bedpost, and hang head downwards
from the top; wave the sheets and covers all over the room; dress
the bolster up in Miss Ophelia’s nightgown and act scenes with it,
singing, whistling, and making faces at herself in the
looking-glass all the time.

‘Topsy,’ Miss Ophelia would say, when her patience was at an
end, ‘what makes you behave so badly?’

‘Dunno, missis—I’spects’ cause I’s so wicked.’

‘I don’t know what I shall do with you, Topsy.’

‘Laws, missis, you must whip me. My old missis always did. I
an’t used to workin’ unless I gets whipped.’

So Miss Ophelia tried it. Topsy would scream and groan and
implore. But half an hour later she would be sitting among the
other little niggers belonging to the house, laughing about it.
‘Miss Feely whip!’ she would say, ‘she can’t do it nohow.’

‘Law, you niggers,’ she would go on, ‘does you know you’s all
sinners? Well, you is; everybody is. White folks is sinners
too—Miss Feely says so. But I ‘spects niggers is the biggest
ones. But ye an’t any of ye up to me. I’s so awful wicked, there
can’t nobody do nothin’ with me. I ‘spects I’s the wickedest
crittur in the world.’ Then she would turn a somersault, and come
up bright and smiling, evidently quite pleased with herself.

CHAPTER XV

EVA AND TOPSY

Two or three years passed. Uncle Tom was still with Mr. St.
Clare, far away from his home. He was not really unhappy. But
always in his heart was the aching longing to see his dear ones
again.

Now he began to have a new sorrow. He loved his little mistress
Eva very tenderly, and she was ill.

He saw that she was growing white and thin. She no longer ran
and played in the garden for hours together as she used to do. She
was always tired now.

Miss Ophelia noticed it too, and tried to make Mr. St. Clare see
it. But he would not. He loved his little Eva so much, that he did
not want to believe that anything could be the matter with her.

Mrs. St. Clare never thought that any one, except herself, could
be ill. So Eva grew daily thinner and weaker, and Uncle Tom and
Aunt Ophelia more and more sad and anxious.

But at last she became so unwell, that even Mr. St. Clare had to
own that something was wrong, and the doctor was sent for.

In a week or two she was very much better. Once more she ran
about playing and laughing, and her father was delighted. Only Miss
Ophelia and the doctor sighed and shook their heads. And little Eva
herself knew; but she was not troubled. She knew she was going to
God.

‘Papa’ she said one day, ‘there are some things I want to say to
you. I want to say them now while I am able.’

She seated herself on his knee, and laid her head on his
shoulder.

‘It is all no use, papa, to keep it to myself any longer. The
time is coming when I am going to leave you. I am going, never to
come back’, and Eva sobbed.

‘Eva, darling, don’t say such things; you are better you
know.’

‘No, papa, I am not any better. I know it quite well, and I am
going soon.’

‘And I want to go,’ she went on, ‘only I don’t want to leave
you—it almost breaks my heart.’

‘Don’t, Eva, don’t talk so. What makes you so sad?’

‘I feel sad for our poor people. I wish, papa, they were all
free. Isn’t there any way to have all slaves made free?’

‘That is a difficult question, dearest. There is no doubt that
this way is a very bad one. A great many people think so. I do
myself. I wish there was not a slave in the land. But then, I don’t
know what is to be done about it.’

‘Papa, you are such a good man, and so noble and kind. Couldn’t
you go all around and try and persuade people to do right about
this? When I am dead, papa, then you will think of me, and do it
for my sake.’

‘When you are dead, Eva! Oh, child, don’t talk to me so.’

‘Promise me at least, father, that Tom shall have his freedom,
as soon as I am gone.’

‘Yes, dear, I will do anything you wish. Only don’t talk
so.’

Miss Ophelia and Eva had been to church together. Miss Ophelia
had gone to her room to take off her bonnet, while Eva talked to
her father.

Suddenly Mr. St. Clare and his little girl heard a great noise
coming from Miss Ophelia’s room. A minute later she appeared,
dragging Topsy behind her.

‘Come out here’ she was saying. ‘I will tell your master.’

‘What is the matter now?’ asked Mr. St. Clare.

‘The matter is that I cannot be plagued with this child any
longer’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘It is past all bearing. Here, I locked
her up, and gave her a hymn to learn. What does she do, but spy out
where I put my key. She has gone to my wardrobe, taken a
bonnet-trimming, and cut it all to pieces to make dolls’ jackets! I
never saw anything like it in my life.’

‘I don’t know what to do’ she went on; ‘I have taught and
taught. I have talked till I’m tired. I’ve whipped her. I’ve
punished her in every way I can think of, and still she is as
naughty as she was at first.’

‘Come here, Topsy, you monkey,’ said Mr. St. Clare.

Topsy came, her hard, round eyes glittering and blinking, half
in fear, half in mischief.

‘What makes you behave so?’ said Mr. St. Clare, who could not
help being amused at her funny expression.

‘Spects it’s my wicked heart; Miss Feely says so.’

‘Don’t you see how much Miss Ophelia has done for you? She says
she has done everything she can think of.’

‘Lor’, yes, mas’r! Old missis used to say so, too. She whipped
me a heap harder, and used to pull my hair and knock my head agin
the door. But it didn’t do me no good. I ‘spect if they is to pull
every hair out o’ my head it wouldn’t do no good neither. I’s so
wicked. Laws! I’s nothin’ but a nigger noways.’

‘I shall have to give her up,’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘I can’t have
that trouble any longer.’

Eva had stood silent, listening. Now she took Topsy by the hand,
and led her into a little room close by.

‘What makes you so naughty, Topsy?’ she said, with tears in her
eyes. ‘Why don’t you try to be good? Don’t you love anybody,
Topsy?’

‘Dunno nothin’ ’bout love. I love candy, that’s all.’

‘But you love your father and mother?’

‘Never had none, ye know. I telled ye that, Miss Eva.’

‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Eva sadly. ‘But hadn’t you any brother, or
sister or aunt, or—’

‘No, none on ’em. Never had nothin’ nor nobody.’

‘But, Topsy, if you would only try to be good you
might—’

‘Couldn’t never be nothin’ but a nigger, if I was ever so good,’
said Topsy. ‘If I could be skinned, and come white, I’d try
then.’

‘But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. Miss Ophelia
would love you if you were good.’

Topsy laughed scornfully.

‘Don’t you think so?’ said Eva.

‘No. She can’t bear me, ’cause I’m a nigger. She’d as soon have
a toad touch her. There can’t nobody love niggers, and niggers
can’t do nothin’. I don’t care,’ and Topsy began whistling to show
that she didn’t.

‘Oh, Topsy! I love you,’ said Eva, laying her little, thin hand
on Topsy’s shoulder. ‘I love you, because you haven’t had any
mother, or father, or friends; because you have been a poor,
ill-used child. I love you, and I want you to be good. It makes me
sorry to have you so naughty. I wish you would try to be good for
my sake, because I’m going to die soon. I shan’t be here very
long.’

Topsy’s round, bright eyes grew suddenly dim with tears. She did
believe at last that it was possible for some one to love her. She
laid her head down between her knees and wept and sobbed.

‘Poor Topsy,’ said Eva gently.

‘Oh, Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva,’ cried the poor little black
child, ‘I will try, I will try. I never did care nothin’ about it
before.’

CHAPTER XVI

EVA’S LAST GOOD-BYE

It soon became quite plain to everybody that Eva was very ill
indeed. She never ran about and played now, but spent most of the
day lying on the sofa in her own pretty room.

Every one loved her, and tried to do things for her. Even
naughty little Topsy used to bring her flowers, and try to be good
for her sake.

Uncle Tom was a great deal in Eva’s room. She used to get very
restless, and then she liked to be carried about. He was so big and
strong that he could do it very easily. He would walk about with
her under the orange-trees in the garden, or sitting down on some
of their old seats, would sing their favorite hymns.

He loved to do it, and could not bear to be long away from his
little mistress. He gave up sleeping in his bed, and lay all night
on the mat outside her door.

One day Eva made her aunt cut off a lot of her beautiful hair.
Then she called all the slaves together, said good-bye to them, and
gave them each a curl of her hair as a keepsake. They all cried
very much, and said they would never forget her, and would try to
be good for her sake.

A few nights later Miss Ophelia came quickly to Tom, as he lay
on the mat outside Eva’s door. ‘Go, Tom,’ she said, ‘go as fast as
you can for the doctor.’

Tom ran. But in the morning little Eva lay on her bed, cold and
white, with closed eyes and folded hands.

She had gone to God.

Mr. St. Clare was very, very unhappy for a long time after Eva
died. He had loved her so much, that now his life seemed quite
empty without her.

He did not forget his promise to her about Tom. He went to his
lawyer, and told him to begin writing out the papers that would
make Tom free. It took some time to make a slave free.

‘Well, Tom,’ said Mr. St. Clare the day after he had spoken to
his Lawyer, ‘I’m going to make a free man of you. So have your
trunk packed and get ready to set out for home.’

Joy shone in Uncle Tom’s face. ‘Bless the Lord,’ he said,
raising his hands to heaven.

Mr. St. Clare felt rather hurt. He did not like Tom to be so
glad to leave him.

‘You haven’t had such a very bad time here that you need be in
such rapture, Tom,’ he said.

‘No, no, mas’r! tan’t that. It’s bein’ a free man! That’s what
I’m joyin’ for.’

‘Why, Tom, don’t you think that you are really better off as you
are?’

‘No, indeed, Mas’r St. Clare,’ said Tom, very decidedly; ‘no,
indeed.’

‘But, Tom, you couldn’t possibly have earned by your work such
clothes and such nice, comfortable rooms and good food as I have
given you.’

‘I knows all that, Mas’r St. Clare. Mas’r has been too good.
But, mas’r, I’d rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor
everything, and have ’em mine than have the best, and have ’em any
man’s else. I had so, mas’r. I thinks it’s nature, mas’r.’

‘I suppose so, Tom. You will be going off and leaving me, in a
month or two,’ he said, rather discontentedly. ‘Though why you
shouldn’t, I don’t know,’ he added, in a gayer voice.

‘Not while mas’r is in trouble,’ said Tom. ‘I’ll stay with mas’r
as long as he wants me—so as I can be of any use.’

‘Not while I am in trouble, Tom?’ said Mr. St. Clare, looking
sadly out of the window. ‘And when will my trouble be over?’ Then
half-smiling he turned from the window, and laid his hand on Tom’s
shoulder. ‘Ah, Tom, you soft, silly boy,’ he said. ‘I won’t keep
you. Go home to your wife and children, and give them all my
love.’

‘Cousin,’ said Miss Ophelia, coming into the room, ‘I want to
speak to you about Topsy.’

‘What has she been doing now?’

‘Nothing; she is a much better girl than she used to be. But I
want to ask you, whose is she—yours or mine?’

‘Why yours, of course; I gave her to you,’ said Mr. St.
Clare.

‘But not by law. There is no use my trying to make this child a
Christian, unless I can be quite sure that she will not be sold as
a slave again. If you are really willing I should have her, I want
you to give me a paper saying she is mine.’

‘But you think it is wicked to keep slaves. Now you want to have
one of your own. Oh! shocking, cousin,’ said Mr. St. Clare, who
loved to tease.

‘Nonsense! I only want to have her, so that I can set her
free.’

‘Very well,’ said Mr. St. Clare, ‘I will write the paper for
you.’ Then he sat down and began to read.

‘But I want it done now,’ said Miss Ophelia.

‘Why are you in such a hurry?’

‘Because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing in,’
said Miss Ophelia. ‘want to make sure of it. You may die or lose
all your money. Then Topsy would be taken away and sold, in spite
of anything I could say.’

Mr. St. Clare hated being made to do things when he didn’t want
to. However, after teasing his cousin a little more, he wrote out
the paper, and Topsy belonged to Miss Ophelia. That evening Mr. St.
Clare went out for a ride.

Tom saw him go, and asked if he should come too. ‘No, my boy,’
said Mr. St. Clare, ‘I shall be back in an hour.’

Tom sat down on the verandah to wait till his master came home.
While he waited, he fell asleep.

Presently he was awakened by loud knocking, and the sound of
voices at the gate.

He ran to open it.

Several men were there carrying a load. It was Mr. St. Clare. He
had been hurt in an accident, and was dying.

Very gently they laid him on a sofa. Nothing could be done. In a
short time he had gone to join his little Eva.

CHAPTER XVII

UNCLE TOM’S NEW MASTER

There had been great grief in the house when Eva died. Now there
was not only sorrow, but gloom and fear.

The kind master was dead, and the poor slaves asked themselves
in despair what would happen to them now.

They were not long left in doubt. One morning Mrs. St. Clare
told them that they were all to be sold. She was going back to her
father’s house to live, and would not want them any more.

Poor Uncle Tom! The news was a dreadful blow to him. For a few
days he had been so happy in the thought of going home. Once more,
after all these years, he thought he would see his dear wife and
little children. Now, at one stroke, he had lost both his kind
master and his hope of freedom.

Instead of going home, he was to be sent farther away than ever
from his dear ones. He could not bear it. He tried to say, “Thy
will be done”, but bitter tears almost choked the words.

He had one hope left. He would ask Miss Ophelia to speak to Mrs.
St. Clare for him.

‘Mas’r St. Clare promised me my freedom, Miss Feely,’ he said.
‘He told me that he had begun to take it out for me. And now,
perhaps, if you would be good enough to speak about it to missis,
she would feel like going on with it. Seeing it was Mas’r St.
Clare’s wish, she might.’

‘I’ll speak for you, Tom, and do my best,’ said Miss Ophelia. ‘I
haven’t much hope, but I will try.’

So Miss Ophelia asked Mrs. St. Clare to set Tom free.

‘Indeed, I shall do no such thing,’ she replied. ‘Tom is worth
more than any of the other slaves. I couldn’t afford to lose so
much money. Besides, what does he want with his freedom? He is a
great deal better off as he is.’

‘But he does want it very much,’ replied Miss Ophelia. ‘And his
master promised it to him.’

‘I dare say he does want it,’ replied Mrs. St. Clare. ‘They all
want it. Just because they are a discontented set, always wanting
what they haven’t got.’

‘But Tom is so good and gentle, and such a splendid worker. If
you sell him there is the chance of his getting a bad master.’

‘Oh, I have no fear about that. Most masters are good, in spite
of all the talk people make about it,’ replied Mrs. St. Clare.

‘Well’, said Miss Ophelia at last, ‘I know it was one of the
last wishes of your husband that Tom should have his freedom. He
promised dear little Eva that he should have it. I think you ought
to do it.’

Then Mrs. St. Clare began to cry, and say every one was unkind
to her, and Miss Ophelia saw it was no use saying anything more.
There was only one other thing she could do. She wrote to Mrs.
Shelby, telling her that poor Uncle Tom was going to be sold again.
She asked her to send money to buy him back, as soon as
possible.

The next day, Uncle Tom and the other slaves belonging to Mr.
St. Clare were sent to market to be sold.

As Uncle Tom stood in the market-place, waiting for some one to
buy him, he looked anxiously round. In the crowd of faces, he was
trying to find one kind, handsome one, like Mr. St. Clare’s. But
there was none.

Presently a short, broad man, with a coarse, ugly face and dirty
hands, came up to Tom. He looked him all over, pulled his mouth
open and looked at his teeth, pinched his arms, made him walk and
jump, and indeed treated him as he would a horse or cow he had
wished to buy.

Tom knew from the way this man looked and spoke, that he must be
bad and cruel. He prayed in his heart that this might not be his
new master. But it was. His name was Legree. He bought Uncle Tom,
several other men slaves, and two women. One of the women was a
pretty young girl, who had never been away from her mother before,
and who was very much afraid of her new master. The other was an
old woman. The two women were chained together. The men, Uncle Tom
among them, had heavy chains put on both hands and feet. Then
Legree drove them all on to a boat which was going up the river to
his plantation.

It was a sad journey. This time there was no pretty Eva, nor
kind-hearted Mr. St. Clare, to bring any happiness to the poor
slaves.

One of the first things Legree did was to take away all Tom’s
nice clothes which Mr. St. Clare had given him.

He made him put on his oldest clothes, then he sold all the
others to the sailors.

Legree made his slaves unhappy in every way he could think of.
Then he would come up to them and say, ‘Come, come, I don’t allow
any sulky looks. Be cheerful, now, or—’ and he would crack
his whip in a way to make them tremble.

At last the weary journey was over. Legree and his slaves
landed. His house was a long way from the river. The men slaves
walked, while Legree and the two women drove in a cart.

Mile after mile they trudged along, over the rough road through
wild and dreary country, till, hungry, thirsty, and tired, they
arrived at the farm, or plantation as it was called.

Legree was not a gentleman like Mr. Shelby or Mr. St. Clare. He
was a very rough kind of farmer. On his farm he grew cotton. The
cotton had to be gathered and tied into bundles. Then he sold it to
people who made it into calico, muslin, and other things, which we
need to use and wear. Gathering cotton is very hard work.

The house Legree lived in had once been a very fine one, and had
belonged to a rich gentleman. Now, it was old, neglected, and
almost in ruins.

The house was bad enough, but the cabins where the slaves lived
were far worse. They were roughly built of wood. The wind and the
rain came through the chinks between the planks. There were no
windows. The floors were nothing but the bare earth. There was no
furniture of any kind in them, only heaps of dirty straw to sleep
upon.

Uncle Tom felt more unhappy than ever. He had hoped at least to
have a little room which he could keep clean and tidy. But this
hole he did not even have to himself. He had to share it with five
or six others.

Now began the saddest time of Uncle Tom’s life. Every morning
very early the slaves were driven out into the fields like cattle.
All day long they worked hard. The burning sun blazed down upon
them, making them hot and tired. Legree and his two chief slaves,
called Quimbo and Sambo, marched about all the time with whips in
their hands. At night they drove the slaves back again to their
miserable huts.

But before they could rest, they had to grind and cook the corn
for their supper. When at last they did go to sleep, they had to
lie on the heaps of dirty straw instead of in comfortable beds.

CHAPTER XVIII

GEORGE AND ELIZA FIND FREEDOM

Tom Loker lay tossing and tumbling in his clean, comfortable bed
at the Quaker farmhouse. A pretty, old Quaker lady, with white hair
and a kind face, was nursing him. Tom Loker did not like being ill
and having to lie in bed. He threw the clothes about, grumbling and
using naughty words all the tune.

‘I must ask thee, Thomas Loker, not to use such language,’ said
the nice lady, as she smoothed his sheets, and made his bed
comfortable again for him.

‘Well, I won’t, granny, if I can help it,’ he replied; ‘but it
is enough to make a fellow swear, it is so awfully hot.’ He gave
another great lunge, and made the sheets and blankets all untidy
again.

‘I suppose that fellow George and the girl Eliza are here,’ he
said, in a sulky voice, after a few minutes’ silence.

‘Yes, they are,’ said the old lady.

‘They had better get away across the lake,’ said Tom Loker, ‘the
quicker the better.’

‘Very likely they will do so,’ said the old lady, calmly going
on with her knitting.

‘But, listen,’ said Tom Loker, getting excited, ‘there are
people who are watching the boats for us. I don’t care if I tell
now. I hope they will get away, just to spite the others for going
and leaving me as they did—the mean puppies, the—’

‘Thomas Loker!’ said the old lady.

‘I tell you, granny, if you bottle a fellow up too tight he’ll
split,’ said Tom Loker. ‘But about Eliza—tell them to dress
her up some way so as to alter her. We have sent a description of
what she looks like to the town where the boats start from. She
will be caught yet if she doesn’t dress up differently.’

‘I thank thee, Thomas Loker,’ replied the old lady with her
usual calmness. ‘We will attend to that. Thank thee.’ Then she went
to tell George and Eliza what Tom Loker had said.

They were indeed very grateful to him, and very glad that they
had not left him, as his own friends had done, to die by the
roadside.

So next day Eliza cut off all her beautiful black hair, and
dressed herself like a boy.

‘Don’t I make a pretty young fellow?’ she said to George,
laughing and blushing at the same time.

‘You always will be pretty,’ said George gravely, ‘do what you
will.’

‘What makes you so sober?’ asked Eliza, kneeling on one knee,
and laying her hand on his. ‘We are within twenty-four hours of
Canada, they say. Only a day and a night on the lake, and
then—oh, then!’

‘O Eliza,’ said George, holding her fast, ‘that is just it. To
be so near liberty, to be almost in sight of it—and then if
we lost it. O Eliza, I should die.’

‘Don’t fear,’ said Eliza hopefully. ‘The good Lord would not
have brought us so far if He didn’t mean to save us. I seem to feel
him with us, George.’

So George kissed his wife and took heart again. Then the kind
old lady brought Harry in dressed as a little girl. And a very
pretty girl he made too. They called him ‘Harriet,’ as it was so
like Harry it was easy to remember.

Harry did not know his mamma, dressed as she was, and clung to
the kind lady, feeling rather afraid of the strange young man. That
was just as well, as he was too young to understand what this
dressing-up and pretending meant, and he might have spoiled it all
by calling the nice-looking young man ‘Mamma.’ So the kind lady was
going with them, pretending to be the little girl’s aunt.

When everything was ready they got into a cab, and drove to the
wharf. The two young men, as they seemed to be, got out, Eliza
helping the kind lady and little girl, while George saw to the
luggage.

As he was standing at the office, taking the tickets, George
overheard two men talking by his side.

‘I’ve watched every one that came on board,’ said one, ‘and I
know they are not on this boat.’

‘You would scarcely know the woman from a white one,’ said the
other. ‘The man is very fair too. He has an H burned into the palm
of his hand.’

The hand with which George was taking the tickets and change
trembled a little, but he turned calmly round, looked straight at
the speaker, and then walked slowly away to where Eliza was waiting
for him.

It was a terribly anxious time, but at last the bell rang, the
boat began to move, and George and Eliza drew long sighs of relief
as they saw the shore getting farther and farther away.

It was a lovely day. The blue waves of Lake Erie danced,
rippling and sparkling, in the sunlight. Hour after hour the boat
steamed on.

Night came; and in the morning, clear and beautiful before them,
rose the shores of Canada.

George and his wife stood arm in arm as the boat came near the
little town, where they were going to land. His breath came thick
and short; a mist gathered before his eyes; he silently pressed the
little hand that lay trembling on his arm.

The bell rang—the boat stopped.

Scarcely seeing what he did, George looked out his luggage, and
gathered his little party.

They were landed on the shore, and stood still till the boat had
started again.

Then with tears of joy, the husband and wife, with their
wondering little boy in their arms, knelt down and lifted up their
hearts to God. They were free.

CHAPTER XIX

UNCLE TOM FINDS FREEDOM

The letter which Miss Ophelia wrote to Mrs. Shelby, telling her
that Tom was to be sold again, was delayed a long time in the post.
When at last it did arrive, Mr. Shelby was very ill, and though
Mrs. Shelby felt dreadfully sorry about Uncle Tom, she could do
nothing, as her husband was so ill. Soon Mr. Shelby died. Mrs.
Shelby was very sad, but in her sorrow she did not forget her
promise to Aunt Chloe and Uncle Tom. As soon as she could, she sold
some land, and George Shelby, taking the money with him, went off
to try to find Uncle Tom and buy him back again.

But by the time George Shelby, came to the place where Mr. St.
Clare used to live, Uncle Tom had been sold to Legree, and no one
knew where he had gone.

At last, after searching about for months, George Shelby found
out where Uncle Tom was, and followed him.

Two days after Legree had been so cruel, George Shelby drove up
the avenue and stopped at the door of the old house.

‘I hear,’ he said to Legree, ‘that you bought a slave named Tom.
He used to belong to my father. I have come to buy him back
again.’

Legree’s face grew black with anger. ‘Yes, I did buy such a
fellow,’ he growled in rage. ‘And a bad bargain it was, too! The
most rebellious, saucy, impudent dog! Set up my niggers to run
away. He owned to it, and, when I bid him tell me where they were,
he said he knew, but wouldn’t tell. He stuck to it, too, though I
gave him the very worst beating I ever gave a nigger yet. I believe
he is trying to die. I shouldn’t wonder if he did.’

‘Where is he?’ said George. ‘Let me see him.’ His cheeks were
crimson, and his eye flashed fire at the thought that Legree had
dared to treat dear Uncle Tom so badly.

‘He is in that shed,’ said a little fellow who was holding
George Shelby’s horse.

George, without saying another word, hurried to the place to
which the little boy pointed.

As he entered the shed, his head felt giddy and his heart
sick.

Uncle Tom lay on a heap of straw on the floor, still and
quiet.

‘Oh, dear Uncle Tom,’ cried George as he knelt beside him, ‘dear
Uncle Tom, do wake—do speak once more. Here’s Mas’r
George—your own little Mas’r George. Don’t you know me?’

‘Mas’r George!’ said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a
feeble voice. ‘Mas’r George? it is—it is. It’s all I wanted.
They haven’t forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart
good. Now I shall die content.’

‘You shan’t die! you mustn’t die, nor think of it. I’ve come to
buy you and take you home,’ said George, and the tears came into
his eyes as he bent over poor Uncle Tom.

‘Oh, Mas’r George, ye’re too late. The Lord has bought me, and
is going to take me home.’

‘Oh, don’t. It breaks my heart to think of what you’ve
suffered—lying in this old shed, too.’

‘You mustn’t, now, tell Chloe, poor soul, how ye found me,’ said
Tom, taking George by the hand. ‘It would seem so dreadful to her.
Only tell her ye found me going into glory, and that I couldn’t
stay for no one. And oh, the poor chil’en, and the baby—my
old heart’s been most broke for them. Tell them to follow me. Give
my love to mas’r, and dear, good missis, and everybody in the
place. I love them all.’

He closed his eyes, and with a smile he fell asleep. Uncle Tom
too was free.

Beyond the gates of Legree’s farm, George had noticed a dry,
sandy knoll, shaded by a few trees. There he made Uncle Tom’s
grave. No stone marks his last resting-place. He needs none. God
knows where he lies.

Kneeling there George bent his head, in shame and sorrow. ‘Here
me, dear God,’ he said, ‘from this day, I will do what one man can
to drive out the curse of slavery from this land.’

CHAPTER XX

GEORGE SHELBY FREES HIS SLAVES

George Shelby wrote a little note to his mother, telling her
that he was coming home. He tried to write about Uncle Tom, but he
could not; tears blinded him, and sobs choked him.

On the day he was expected every one was in a state of bustle
and excitement. Aunt Chloe in a new print dress, and clean white
apron walked round the supper-table, making sure that everything
was right. Her black face shone with joy at the thought of seeing
Uncle Tom again.

‘I’m thinking my old man won’t know the boys and the baby,’ she
said.

Mrs. Shelby sighed. Ever since the letter had come from George
she had had a very sad heart. She felt sure something must be
wrong.

‘He won’t know the baby, my old man won’t,’ said Chloe again,
‘Why, it’s five years since they took him.’

Just then the sound of wheels was heard.

‘It’s Mas’r George,’ cried Aunt Chloe, running to the window in
great excitement.

Mrs. Shelby ran to the door. As George met her he put his arms
round her, and kissed her tenderly.

Aunt Chloe stood behind anxiously looking out into the
darkness.

‘Oh, poor Aunt Chloe,’ said George, gently taking her hard,
black hand between both his own. ‘I’d have given all my fortune to
have brought Uncle Tom home with me; but he has gone to a better
country.’ Mrs. Shelby cried out as if she had been hurt, but Aunt
Chloe did not make a sound.

In silence they went into the supper-room.

‘There,’ said Aunt Chloe, holding out her trembling hands to her
mistress, ‘it’s just as I knew it would be. He’s been sold and
murdered on dem old plantations.’

Then she turned and walked proudly out of the room. Mrs. Shelby
followed her softly, took one of her hands, drew her down into a
chair, and sat down beside her.

‘My poor, good Chloe,’ she said gently.

Chloe leaned her head on her mistress’s shoulder, and sobbed
out, ‘Oh, missis, ‘scuse me, my heart’s broke—dat’s all.’

‘I know it is,’ said Mrs. Shelby, as her tears fell fast, ‘and I
cannot heal it.’

There was silence for a little as they wept together. Then
George sat down beside Aunt Chloe, and took her hand. He talked
gently to her, telling her of Uncle Tom’s last loving messages. So
she was comforted a little.

One morning, about a month after this, George Shelby called all
his servants together, telling them he had something to say to
them.

They wondered what it could be, and were very much surprised
when he appeared, carrying a bundle of papers in his hand.

They were still more astonished when he gave a paper to each
one, and told them all that they were free.

With sobs and tears and shouts they pressed round him, thanking
and blessing him. But some of them came with anxious faces, begging
him to take their free papers back again, and not to send them
away.

‘We don’t want to be any freer than we are,’ they said. ‘We have
always had all we wanted.’

‘We don’t want to leave the old place, and young mas’r and
Missis, and the rest.’

‘My good friends,’ said George, when he could get silence,
‘there will be no need for you to leave me. We want quite as many
servants as we did before. But now you are free men and free women.
I shall pay you wages for your work, and if I die, or get into
debt, you can’t be taken away to be sold. That is all the
difference. I want you all to stay with me, for I want to teach you
how to live as free men and women ought.’

‘One thing more,’ added George, when the cheering and rejoicing
had died away a little. ‘You all remember our good old Uncle Tom.
You have heard how he died, and how he sent his love to you all. It
was on his grave, my friends, that I made up my mind, with God’s
help, never to own another slave, if it were possible to free him.
I resolved that nobody, through my fault, should ever run the risk
of being parted from his dear ones, and of dying far from them, as
he died.

‘So, when you rejoice in your freedom, remember that you owe it
to dear old Uncle Tom, and pay it back in kindness to his wife and
children. Think of your freedom every time you see Uncle Tom’s
Cabin; and let it help you to try to live as he did, and be as
honest and faithful and Christian as he was.’

THE END.