The young child knew not what they said, But at the open door Eliza, his poor mother, stood, With heart all sick and sore. Oh children dear, 'twas sad to hear, That for the trader's gold, To that hard-hearted evil man Her own sweet boy was sold. And he would take him far away, To where the cotton grew, And sell him for a slave to men More hard and wicked too. She knew that none would heed his woe, His want, or sickness there, Nor ever would she see his face, Or hear his evening prayer. So when the house was all asleep, And when the stars were bright, She took her Harry in her arms, And fled through that cold night:-- Away through bitter frost and snow Did that poor mother flee; And how she fared, and what befell, Read on, and you shall see. Before setting out, Eliza took a piece of paper and a pencil, and wrote hastily the following note to her kind mistress, who had tried in vain to save little Harry from being sold:-- "Oh missus! dear missus! don't think me ungrateful; don't think hard of me. I am going to try to save my boy; you will not blame me! God bless and reward you for all your kindness!" Hastily folding and directing this, she went to a drawer and made up a little package of clothing for her boy, which she tied firmly round her waist; and so fond is a mother's remembrance, that even in the terrors of that hour she did not forget to put up in the little package one or two of his favourite toys. On the bed lay her slumbering boy, his long curls falling negligently around his unconscious face, his rosy mouth half open, his little fat hands thrown out over the bed-clothes, and a smile spread like a sunbeam over his whole face. "Poor boy! poor fellow!" said Eliza, "they have sold you, but your mother will save you yet." It was some trouble to arouse the little sleeper; but after some effort he sat up, and began playing with his wooden bird, while his mother was putting on her bonnet and shawl. "Where are you going, mother?" said he, as she drew near the bed with his little coat and cap. His mother drew near, and looked so earnestly into his eyes, that he at once divined that something unusual was the matter. "Hush, Harry," she said; "mustn't speak loud, or they will hear us. A wicked man was coming to take little Harry away from his mother, and carry him 'way off in the dark; but mother won't let him--she's going to put on her little boy's cap and coat, and run off with him, so the ugly man can't catch him." Saying these words, she had tied and buttoned on the child's simple outfit, and taking him in her arms, she whispered to him to be very still; and, opening the door, she glided noiselessly out.