"We're goin' to make the baby a nice, new play-house, ain't we, Abner?" "Yes, and a swing." The baby slept nearly all the forenoon. When she woke (for it was a girl) she was washed, and dressed in some of Master Oleah's clothes, and Mrs. Tompkins declared the child a marvel of beauty, and when the little thing turned her dark eyes on her benefactor with a confiding smile the lady resolved that no sorrow that she could avert should cloud the sweet, innocent face. When the boys came in they began a war dance, which made the baby scream with delight. Impetuous Oleah snatched her from his mother's lap, and both boy and baby rolled over on the floor, fortunately not hurting either. His mother scolded, but the baby crowed and laughed, and he showered a hundred kisses on the little white face. A boy about twelve years of age was coming down the lane. He entered the gate and was coming towards the house. Mr. Tompkins, who was in the sitting-room, in a moment recognized the boy as Crazy Joe, and told his wife about the unfortunate lad. He met the boy on the porch. "How do you do, Joe?" he asked, extending his hand. "I am well," Joe answered. "Have you seen my father Jacob or my brother Benjamin?" "No, they have not yet come," answered the planter. For several years after, Joe was a frequent visitor. There was no moment's lapse of his melancholy madness, which yet seemed to have a peculiar method in it, and the mystery that hid his past but deepened and intensified. CHAPTER III. DINNER TALK. America furnishes to the world her share of politicians. The United States, with her free government, her freedom of thought, freedom of speech and freedom of press, is prolific in their production. One who had given the subject but little thought, and no investigation, would be amazed to know their number. Nearly every boy born in the United States becomes a politician, with views more or less pronounced, and the subject is by no means neglected by the feminine portion of the community. That part of Virginia, the scene of our story, abounded with "village tavern and cross-roads politicians." Snagtown, on Briar creek, was a village not more than three miles from Mr. Tompkins'. It boasted of two taverns and three saloons, where loafers congregated to talk about the weather, the doings in Congress, the terrible state of the country, and their exploits in catching "runaway niggers." A large per cent of our people pay more attention to Congressional matters than to their own affairs. We do not deny that it is every man's right to understand the grand machinery of this Government, but he should not devote to it the time which should be spent in caring for his family. Politics should not intoxicate men and lead them from the paths of honest industry, and furnish food for toughs to digest at taverns and street corners.