Paul looked wistfully at his mother, hoping she would respond favorably to his last few words and tell him something about his father, whose picture hung over the piano, in the parlor. She had taught him to love it and call it papa, yet would always avoid telling anything about him when Paul in childish prattle would say: “Mamma, where is my papa?” The answer was always the same: “Paul, my darling son, your papa is gone, gone;” then would break out weeping violently. His childish questions were quickly hushed, as it always awed him into silence to see his mother in trouble. Yet the same thought had grown up with him, and in later years had troubled him very much. “Why does not mother tell me more about my father—whether he is dead or alive;” these were his thoughts. He was sitting under a tree one Sunday evening musing, when he exclaimed aloud: “Is my father dead or alive? Why does mother not tell me and not keep me in misery?” An old negro servant was passing by and heard him. He went quietly to him, and laying his hand on Paul’s shoulder said: “Young massa, fadda is alibe and is a roving ober the earf, missa and massa had a quarrel and massa went away when you was a little babe. He laid you in my arms and said, ‘Pompey, watch ober dis boy as if he was your own, and God will bless you always; and my prayer will always be for you and my poor little boy, who will neber know he has a fadder.’” Great tears rolled down the negro’s dusky cheeks and fell on the young man’s shoulder as he said: “Paul, I has always watched you grow up to be a man, and a good, kind man you is, too, and now I is ready to die.” “No, no,” answered Paul, “do not say die, Pompey. You have tried to fill the place of father to me, and I can remember many acts of kindness you have shown to me in my childhood and I want you to live long with me,” and he grasped the hand of his faithful old servant. This was how Paul came to know his father was living; and when he was last speaking to his mother and she did not say anything about his father he turned to go and she saw he was deeply moved: she said, “Paul, who is this little girl you spoke so highly of?” “I do not know, mother, but perhaps I shall before the week is out.” So saying, he went slowly to the barn.