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NEGRO LIFE IN AMERICA. 363

And little Eliza seconds the effort by toddling up to her
father, and trying to pull the book out of his hand, and instal
herself on his knee as a substitute.

“Oh, you little witch!’ says George, yielding, as, in such
circumstances, man always must.

“ That’s right,” says Eliza, as she begins to cut a loaf of bread.
A little older she looks; her form a little fuller ; her hair more
matronly than of yore; but evidently contented and happy as
woman need be.

“Harry, my boy, how did you come on in that sum to-day?’
says George, as he laid his hand on his son’s head.

Harry has lost his long curls; but he can never lose those eyes
and eyelashes, and that fine, bold brow, that flushes with triumph
as he answers, “I did it, every bit of it, myself, father; and
nobody helped me.”’

“ That’s right,” says his father; “‘ depend on yourself, my son.
You have a better chance than ever your poor father had.”

At this moment there is a rap at the door; and Eliza goes
and opens it. The delighted “ Why—this you?’ calls up her
husband; and the good pastor of Amberstberg is welcomed.
There are two women with him, and Eliza asks them to sit
down.

Now, if the truth must be told, the honest pastor had arranged
a little programme, according to which this affair was to develope
itself; and, on the way up, all had very cautiously and prudently
exhorted each other not to let things out, except according to

revious arrangement.

What was the good man’s consternation, therefore, just as he

_ had motioned to the ladies to be seated, and was taking out his —
pocket-handkerchief to wipe his mouth, so as to proceed to his in-
troductory speech in good order, when Madame de Thoux upset
the whole plan by throwing her arms around George's neck, and
letting all out at once by saying, “ O George! don’t you know
me? I’m your sister Emily !"’

Cassy: had seated herself more composedly, and would have
carried on her part very well, had not little Eliza suddenly
appeared before her in exact shape and form, every outline and
curl, just as her daughter was when she saw her last. The little
thing peered up in her face; and Cassy caught her up in her arms,
pressed her to her bosom, saying what at the moment she really
believed, ‘‘ Darling, I’m your mother !”

In fact, it was a troublesome matter to do up exactly in proper
order; but the good pastor, at last, succeeded in getting every-
body quiet, and delivering the speech with which he had intended
to open the exercises; and in which, at last, he succeeded so well,
that his whole audience were sobbing about him in a manner that
ought to satisfy any orator, ancient or modern.

They knelt together, and the good man prayed—for there are

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