“A pair of little sleeve-buttons. How pretty! Gold with a setting of coral. And on the inside, in tiny letters, C. A. B.” “Wall, dat’s de ’stonishin’est ting I’ze seen dis many a day. Ten—no, ’lebben—no, fourteen yars ago, as I war emptyin’ suds out ob de wash-tub, I see dese little buttons shinin’ on de groun’. ’T was de Monday arter you was browt here. Your little underclose had been in de wash. So what does I do but put de buttons in my pocket, tinkin’ I’d gib ’em ter missis ter keep fur yer. But whan I look for ’em, dey was clean gone,—couldn’t fine ’em nowhar. So I say noting t’ all ’bout it. Jes now, as I tuk up fro’ my trunk a little muslin collar dat de dare saint I tell yer ’bout used ter wear, what sh’d drop from de foles but dis same little pair ob buttons dat I hab’nt seen fur all dese yars. Take ’em, darlin’, fur dey ’long ter you an’ ter nobody else.” “Thank you, Esha. I’ll keep them with my other treasures”; and Clara fastened them with a pin to the piece of bunting in her bosom. “And now, good by. Pray for me, Esha.” “Night and day, darlin’. But Esha mus gib suffn more ’n prayers. Take dese twenty dollars in gold, darlin’. Yer’ll want ’em, sure. Don’t ’fuze ’em.” “How long have you been saving up this money, Esha?” “Bress de chile, only tree muntz. Dat’s nuffn. You jes take ’em. Dar! Dat’s right. Tie ’em up safe in de corner ob yer hankerchy.” “But, Esha, you may not be paid back till you get to heaven.” And Clara put on her bonnet, and spoke rapidly to choke down a sob. “So much de better. Dar! Put ’em safe in yer pocket. Dat’s a good chile.” Fearing a refusal would only grieve the old woman, Clara received and put away the gold-pieces. Then, closing the spring of the carpet-bag, she kissed Esha, and said, “If they inquire for me, balk them as well as you can.” “Leeb me alone fur dat, darlin’. An’ now yer mus’ go. De Lord an’ his proppet bless yer! Allah keep yer! De mudder ob God watch ober yer!” In these ejaculations Esha would hardly have been held as orthodox either by a mufti or a D.D. But what if, in the balance of the All-Seeing, the sincere heart should outweigh the speculative head? Poor old Esha was Mahometan through reverence for her father; Catholic through influences from the family with whom she lived when a child; and Protestant through knowledge of many good men and women of that faith. She cared not how many saints there were in her calendar. The more the merrier. All goodness in man or woman, of whatever race or sect, was deified in her simple and semi-barbarous conceptions. Poor, ignorant, sinful, unregenerate creature! “God bless you, Esha!” said Clara. “Look! There is poor Dainty perched on the window-sill. Plainly he is no Abolitionist. He prefers slavery. Take care of him.” “Dat I will, if only for your sake, darlin’.”