"Oh, yes, my dear fellow!" and he laid his hand on him tenderly; "tell me just what you want me to do." "Oh, my boy! Miss Molly tells me my own boy John have got his freedom mos out, an' he's comin' to find me. I can't wait, Mas'r Louis; 'pears like a day'll be a year. I mout die, he mout die too. I'll sen' him my buryin' money, an' ef tant enough, can't you sen' a little more? an' I'll work it out, I will, sure, an' no mistake; fur de sake of the right, Mas'r Louis, an' for to make my ole heart glad. Will you do it?" "I certainly will, Matthias; but you are excited now." "Bless ye. May de heavins open fur to swallow me in ef I don't clar up ebery cent you pays fur me. But you can't tell. Oh, ye don't know!" and again he walked, clapped his hands, and sang, "Oh, Canaan, bright Canaan!" till, pausing suddenly, he said, "Guess I better shuffle ober to tell Peg--'pears like I'm done gone clar out whar I can't know nothin';" and with "good arternoon" he left us, swinging his hat in his hand, and singing still "Oh, Canaan!" as he traveled over the hill toward home. We were all glad for Matthias, and Clara said: "Let us rejoice with them that rejoice; and Louis, my dear boy, write at once to the gentleman who owns John, and pay him whatever he says is due. We can do it, and we should, for the poor, tired heart of his father cannot afford to wait when a promise lies so near. Let us help him to lay hold upon it." "Amen," said Aunt Hildy. "I'll help ten dollars' worth; taint much." "But you shall keep it for John," said Clara; "he will need something after he gets here." The next morning Matthias came to deliver his bank-book to Louis, saying: "Get the buryin' money; get it and send it fur me, please." Louis told him to keep his bank-book. "You shall see your boy as soon as money can get him here." "Oh, Mas'r Louis!" and he grasped both his hands; "de Lord help this ole nigger to pay you. I's willin' to work dese fingers clean to de bone." Our two boys got on bravely. The first Saturday night we sent them home with loaded baskets, and each with a pail of new milk, which we knew would be a treat to the children, and in their little purses the amount promised by Louis. Matthias took them to their homes, and Louis went for them on Monday morning, and when he returned he said: "The pictures are growing, Emily. Bright eyes and rosy cheeks will come soon." Mr. and Mrs. Waterman were leaving us. We were kissing "our baby" good-bye. How we disliked to say the word! And when looking back at Matthias after we started, she cried, "Mah, mah!" I laughed and cried together. Louis and I parted with them reluctantly at the depot, and our last words were: "Send John right along."