Uncle Tom's Cabin or, Life Among the Lowly

resuming his gay tone, 'all I want is that different things be kept in different boxes. The whole frame-work of society, both in Europe and America, is made up of various things which will not stand the scrutiny of any very ideal standard of morality. It's pretty generally understood that men don't aspire after the absolute right, but only to do about as well as the rest of the world. Now, when any one speaks up, like a man, and says slavery is necessary to us, we can't get along without it, we should be beggared if we give it up, and, of course, we mean to hold on to it,- this is strong, clear, well-defined language; it has the respectability of truth to it; and, if we may judge by their practice, the majority of the world will bear us out in it. But when he begins to put on a long face, and snuffle, and quote Scripture, I incline to think he isn't much better than he should be.'

'You are very uncharitable,' said Marie.

'Well,' said St. Clare, 'suppose that something should bring down the price of cotton once and forever, and make the whole slave property a drug in the market, don't you think we should soon have another version of the Scripture doctrine? What a flood of light would pour into the church, all at once, and how immediately it would be discovered that everything in the Bible and reason went the other way!'

'Well, at any rate,' said Marie, as she reclined herself on a lounge, 'I'm thankful I'm born where slavery exists; and I believe it's right,-indeed, I feel it must be; and, at any rate, I'm sure I couldn't get along without it.'

'I say, what do you think, Pussy?' said her father to Eva, who came in at this moment, with a flower in her hand.

'What about, papa?'

'Why, which do you like the best,-to live as they do at your uncle's, up in Vermont, or to have a house-full of servants, as we do?'

'O, of course, our way is the pleasantest,' said Eva.

'Why so?' said St. Clare, stroking her head.

'Why, it makes so many more round you to love, you know,' said Eva, looking up earnestly.

'Now, that's just like Eva,' said Marie; 'just one of her odd speeches.'

'Is it an odd speech, papa?' said Eva, whisperingly, as she got upon his knee.

'Rather, as this world goes, Pussy,' said St. Clare. 'But where has my little Eva been, all dinner-time?'

'O, I've been up in Tom's room, hearing him sing, and Aunt Dinah gave me my dinner.'

'Hearing Tom sing, hey?'

'O, yes! he sings such beautiful things about the New Jerusalem, and bright angels, and the land of Canaan.'

'I dare say; it's better than the opera, isn't it?'

'Yes, and he's going to teach them to me.'

'Singing lessons, hey?-you are coming on.'

'Yes, he sings for me, and I read to him in my Bible; and he explains what it means, you know.'

'On my word,' said Marie, laughing, 'that is the latest joke of the season.'

'Tom isn't a bad hand, now, at explaining Scripture, I'll dare swear,' said St. Clare. 'Tom has a natural genius for religion. I wanted the horses out early, this morning, and I stole up to Tom's cubiculum there, over the stables, and there I heard him holding a meeting by himself; and, in fact, I haven't heard anything quite so savory as Tom's prayer, this some time. He put in for me, with a zeal that was quite apostolic.'

'Perhaps he guessed you were listening. I've heard of that trick before.'

'If he did, he wasn't very polite; for he gave the Lord his opinion of me, pretty freely. Tom seemed to think there was decidedly room for improvement in me, and seemed very earnest that I should be converted.'

'I hope you'll lay it to heart,' said Miss Ophelia.

'I suppose you are much of the same opinion,' said St. Clare. 'Well, we shall see,-shan't we, Eva?'

CHAPTER XVII

The Freeman's Defence

There was a gentle bustle at the Quaker house, as the afternoon drew to a close. Rachel Halliday moved quietly to and fro, collecting from her household stores such needments as could be arranged in the smallest compass, for the wanderers who were to go forth that night. The afternoon shadows stretched eastward, and the round red sun stood thoughtfully on the horizon, and his beams shone yellow and calm into the little bed-room where George and his wife were sitting. He was sitting with his child on his knee, and his wife's hand in his. Both looked thoughtful and serious and traces of tears were on their cheeks.

'Yes, Eliza,' said George, 'I know all you say is true. You are a good child,-a great deal better than I am; and I will try to do as you say. I'll try to act worthy of a free man. I'll try to feel like a Christian. God Almighty knows that I've meant to do well,-tried hard to do well,-when everything has been against me; and now I'll forget all the past, and put away every hard and bitter feeling, and read my Bible, and learn to be a good man.'

'And when we get to Canada,' said Eliza, 'I can help you. I can do dress-making very well; and I understand fine washing and ironing; and between us we can find something to live on.'

'Yes, Eliza, so long as we have each other and our boy. O! Eliza, if these people only knew what a blessing it is for a man to feel that his wife and child belong to him! I've often wondered to see men that could call their wives and children their own fretting and worrying about anything else. Why, I feel rich and strong, though we have nothing but our bare hands. I feel as if I could scarcely ask God for any more. Yes, though I've worked hard every day, till I am twenty-five years old, and have not a cent of money, nor a roof to cover me, nor a spot of land to call my own, yet, if they will only let me alone now, I will be satisfied,-thankful; I will work, and send back the money for you and my boy. As to my old master, he has been paid five times over for all he ever spent for me. I don't owe him anything.'

'But yet we are not quite out of danger,' said Eliza; 'we are not yet in Canada.'

'True,' said George, 'but it seems as if I smelt the free air, and it makes me strong.'

At this moment, voices were heard in the outer apartment, in earnest conversation, and very soon a rap was heard on the door. Eliza started and opened it.

Simeon Halliday was there, and with him a Quaker brother, whom he introduced as Phineas Fletcher. Phineas was tall and lathy, red-haired, with an expression of great acuteness and shrewdness in his face. He had not the placid, quiet, unworldly air of Simeon Halliday; on the contrary, a particularly wide-awake and au fait appearance, like a man who rather prides himself on knowing what he is about, and keeping a bright lookout ahead; peculiarities which sorted rather oddly with his broad brim and formal phraseology.

'Our friend Phineas hath discovered something of importance to the interests of thee and thy party, George,' said Simeon; 'it were well for thee to hear it.'

'That I have,' said Phineas, 'and it shows the use of a man's always sleeping with one ear open, in certain places, as I've always said. Last night I stopped at a little lone tavern, back on the road. Thee remembers the place, Simeon, where we sold some apples, last year, to that fat woman, with the great ear- rings. Well, I was tired with hard driving; and, after my supper I stretched myself down on a pile of bags in the