Tom's master told him all the planters were afraid of him, and said he would play a trick on him yet. "I'll stay at home, then, and won't even go out to meetin's, till all ov 'em will see I means what I says." "That's right, Tom; they don't know you like I do. Bat I told them 't would do all the niggers good just to hear your story about the meanness of abolitionists. You know, Tom, that was just what I told you, that they pretended to be your friends, but they were your worst enemies." "Yes, massa, I al'us bleved you; and if Liz hadn't cut up the way she did I never'd tried 'em." All things went on smoothly with Tom. He was never more trusty, diligent, and faithful in all that pertained to his master's interest. Three months still found him contented and happy, and the constant praise he received from his master to his neighbors began to inspire them with sufficient confidence to permit him to attend their meetings occasionally, though he did not appear anxious to enjoy that privilege until his master proposed his going, and then he was careful to attend only day meetings. Neighboring white people often talked with him about his Northern trip, and all got the story he had told his master, until Tom became quite a pet missionary, as his reports went far and near, among both whites and blacks. After Lizzie's master became quite satisfied with her hatred toward Tom, he allowed the hound, which he kept over two months to watch for Tom, to go back to the keeper. Though Tom and Lizzie lived eight miles apart, they had a secret dispatch-bearer, by whom they reported to each other; but visits were very few and far between. One day, in her "clarin-up time," Lizzie came across a bundle containing a Sunday suit, placed in her cabin when Tom left for the North, which she took occasion to have a good quarrel over. Taking them into her mistress, the master being present, she said, "Missus, that'll I do wid dese ole close Tom lef, when he get mad an' run'd off to spite me; now I'll burn 'em up or giv' 'em to de pigs for nes', I ain't gwine to hav' 'em in my way any longer." "Oh, don't burn 'em up, can't you send 'im word to come and get 'em?" "I sends 'im no word, if he never gets 'em; I'd heap better giv' 'em to de hogs." Turning to another house servant, her mistress said, "Dil, you tell Page's Jim when he goes to that big meeting your people are going to have next week, to tell Tom to come and take his truck away, or Liz will pitch 'em in the fire for 'im." But there was no hurry manifest, after he got the word. Tom's master told him he had better go and get his clothes or Liz might destroy them. Said our George, "One Saturday evenin' I went to have my las' quarrel with Lizzie. I called her bad names, an' she flung back mean names, an' twitted me with runnin' away to make her feel bad, when she didn't care a picayune for me; an' I tole her I never wanted to see her face agin, an' we almos' cum to blows."