“That reminds me of Christmas gifts,” said Durward, anxious to change the conversation. “I wonder how many of us will get one?” Ere there was any chance for an answer a servant appeared at the door, asking Mrs. Livingstone for some medicine for old Aunt Polly, the superannuated negress, who will be remembered as having nursed Mrs. Nichols during her attack of rheumatism, and for whom grandma had conceived a strong affection. For many days she had been very ill, causing Mrs. Livingstone to wonder “what old niggers wanted to live for, bothering everybody to death.” The large stock of abolitionism which Mrs. Nichols had brought with her from Massachusetts was a little diminished by force of habit, but the root was there still, in all its vigor, and since Aunt Polly’s illness she had been revolving in her mind the momentous question, whether she would not be most guilty if Polly were suffered to die in bondage. “I promised Nancy Scovandyke,” said she, “that I’d have some on ’em set free, but I’ll be bound if ’taint harder work than I s’posed ’twould be.” Still Aunt Polly’s freedom lay warm at grandma’s heart and now when she was mentioned together with “Christmas gifts,” a bright idea entered her mind, “John,” said she to her son, when Corinda had gone with the medicine, “John, have you ever made me a Christmas present since I’ve been here?” “I believe not,” was his answer. “Wall,” continued grandma, “bein’s the fashion, I want you to give me somethin’ this Christmas, will you?” “Certainly,” said he, “what is it?” Grandma replied that she would rather not tell him then—she would wait until Christmas morning, which came the next Tuesday, and here the conversation ended. Soon after, Durward took his leave, telling ’Lena he should call for her on Thursday. “That’s a plaguy smart feller,” said grandma, as the door closed upon him; “and I kinder think he’s got a notion after ’Leny.” “Ridiculous!” muttered Mrs. Livingstone, while Carrie added, “Just reverse it, and say she has a notion after him!” “Shut up your head,” growled John Jr. “You are only angry because he asked her to accompany him, instead of yourself. I reckon he knows what he’s about.” “I reckon he does, too!” said Mrs. Livingstone, with a peculiar smile, which nettled ’Lena more than any open attack would have done. With the exception of his mother, John Jr. was the last to leave the parlor, and when all the rest were gone, Mrs. Livingstone seized her opportunity for telling him what she had heard. Taking a light from the table, he was about retiring, when she said, “I learned some news to-day which a little surprised me.” “Got it from Mother Atkins, I suppose,” answered John, still advancing toward the door. “Partly from her, and partly from others,” said his mother, adding, as she saw him touch the door-knob, “It’s about Nellie Douglass.” This was sufficient to arrest his attention, and turning about, he asked, “What of her?”