“I cannot stay here; I must go somewhere; there is no comfort for me on this earth. Oh, why did I live to see this trouble!” Thus he would talk to Warren Hilton when they were alone. “Why do you not go away from here for a while? The servants can look after the farm, and I will run over now and then to see how they get along. You can write me and you can hear all about them. You can go down to the city of New York, or anywhere else you choose. Something may change for the best. I would not stay here and moan myself to death if I were you. What do you say to that, my friend?” said Warren, tapping his friend on the shoulder, one summer evening as he saw how sad and lonely Paul was. Warren’s sympathetic heart went out to his friend. It grieved him sadly to see his lonely friend, as Paul was never seen to smile since his mother’s death. It was nearly a year since the opening of our story. All nature was dressed in its mantle of green when Paul decided to travel. The evening before he was to start he sat in the library with his head in his hands thinking of the past. A light rap sounded on the door, which brought him back to the present, and bidding the knocker come in Pompey put his wooly head in the room and said, “Massa berry busy? I’s like to talk wid you a little while before you goes away, as you go so early in de morning, so I’s just come now to see you.” “All right, Pompey, take a chair and tell me all the news.” “I fear I has sad news for you, as you will get sad from what I’s got to tell you. I’s lived here ever since you was a child. Well, I first lived with Missus’ fodder, and when Missus got married I just came and lived wid her, so you see, Massa Paul, I just knows nearly all de history of your fodder and modder. Well, I suppose you would like to have me tell something about them?” “Yes, Pompey, tell me all you know about them,” answered Paul, all animation to hear something about his parents. “Well, just before Missus died she told me there was a little tin box for you in de garret, and I was to tell you all I knows about her. “Your modder was a lady—a perfect lady—and your father a gentleman, and a baronet’s son in England. Your fadder had a fust lub, and your mudder caught him looking at a picture of a sweet face and head all curls—a pretty face it was, too. It made Missus very angry and she wanted him to burn it up, but he wouldn’t and they quarreled often about it. He told Missus it would not be any harm to her if he did keep it—the original was dead. But he could not give up the picture. Well, Missus was bound to have her way, so she stoled de picture and burned it up, and when Massa found it out he just came to me and told me what I told you under de tree. I told him to just stay, but he said, ‘No, no, I never can be trampled on by a woman. We cannot lib peacefully together and I will go and lebe her for a while.’