"Lordy! Lordy! Clarsy," exclaimed Ned, "ef we uns only hed sum ob dem gud wittles Miss Alice got in dat basket, I wudn't be in narry grane ob a hurry fur dem forty akers ob lan und de mule nudder, wud yu?" "Mout hab had gud wittles all dis time ef yu hadn't ben sich er flambergastered fule. Yu und Joshaway er tarnally spasheating erbout hopperrattucks und pianny fortys und de freedmun's bero und de conwenshun und de miluntary, und bress de Lord nary wun ob yu's seed a hunk o' meat ur a dust o' flour sense freedum cum in de lan, und boff ob yu luks dis werry minit lak perishin conwicks, ur de sutler's mules turned out to grass. Neber herd dat yungun open her mouf agin enybody in my life, white er black. Ef yu axes her fer enyfing, she is er smolin de butifulist smile all de bressed time, und ef de cullud fokeses' chillun is er hongry she feeds dem wid lasses and homny und gud truck twell dey is fitten ter pop open; und when dey is sick, she is jes lak er hark angel, und bress Gord, dat ar gal is ergwine tu hab er golen krown, und er harp too, und gole slippers, when her hed is lade low; und ef she goes fust I'm ergwine ter keep her grabe kivered wid de butifulist flowers in ole missus' flower garden." And Clarissa, overburdened with the tumult of her tender soul, began to sob and cry. "Hit nachully tares my ole hart strings outen my body to sen her dat wurd; kase yu nose, Ned, dat Miss Alice's hans is tu swete und tender tu cut de wud fur de kitchen und lif dem hebby pots in dis yer bilin sun. Ef I had my chusin I wudn't gib wun stran ob her golen hare fur all de freedum in de lan, und ole Lincum frowed in, dat I wudn't." Clarissa could maintain her equilibrium whenever Ned expatiated upon matters, persons and events unconnected with her young mistress, but every chord of feeling in her black bosom was instantly vibrant with emotion if anything in disparagement of her was spoken. Dear, dear child! She was now oblivious to all that was passing in the little cabin. There she goes, singing a sweet lullaby, on her mission of love, moving along in the sunshine that encircles her as with a magic zone of glory. The little daisies lift up their heads to laugh as they whisper to each other, "There she goes, our little sweetheart!" And an old woman essaying to free herself from the fetters of the tyrant Death at the other end of the line is whispering, "Here she comes, my darling!" Her great, sympathetic nature, whose capacity was enlarged to embrace all the poor, white and black, made the black cruel heart of Aleck, even, unwittingly to relent after he had torn her fair face with the thorn bush in the meadow.