“Well,” said Tom, a little impatiently, “what’s yer gwine to do?  Is yer gwine wid us, ef yer gits a chance?”

“Now, jes’ you hole on till I gits a chance to tell yer why I’se gwine to stay.”

“Well, Uncle Daniel, let’s hear it,” said Robert.

“I was jes’ gwine to tell yer when Tom put me out.  Ole Marster died when Marse Robert war two years ole, and his pore mother when he war four.  When he died, Miss Anna used to keep me ‘bout her jes’ like I war her shadder.  I used to nuss Marse Robert jes’ de same as ef I were his own fadder.  I used to fix his milk, rock him to sleep, ride him on my back, an’ nothin’ pleased him better’n fer Uncle Dan’el to ride him piggy-back.”

“Well, Uncle Daniel,” said Robert, “what has that got to do with your going with us and getting your freedom?”

“Now, jes’ wait a bit, and don’t frustrate my mine.  I seed day arter day Miss Anna war gettin’ weaker and thinner, an’ she looked so sweet and talked so putty, I thinks to myself, ‘you ain’t long for dis worl’.’  And she said to me one day, ’Uncle Dan’el, when I’se gone, I want you to be good to your Marster Robert.’  An’ she looked so pale and weak I war almost ready to cry.  I couldn’t help it.  She hed allers bin mighty good to me.  An’ I beliebs in praisin’ de bridge dat carries me ober.  She said, ’Uncle Dan’el, I wish you war free.  Ef I had my way you shouldn’t serve any one when I’m gone; but Mr. Thurston had eberything in his power when he made his will.  I war tied hand and foot, and I couldn’t help it.’  In a little while she war gone—­jis’ faded away like a flower.  I belieb ef dere’s a saint in glory, Miss Anna’s dere.”

“Oh, I don’t take much stock in white folks’ religion,” said Robert, laughing carelessly.

“The way,” said Tom Anderson, “dat some of dese folks cut their cards yere, I think dey’ll be as sceece in hebben as hen’s teeth.  I think wen some of dem preachers brings de Bible ‘round an’ tells us ’bout mindin our marsters and not stealin’ dere tings, dat dey preach to please de white folks, an’ dey frows coleness ober de meetin’.”

“An’ I,” said Aunt Linda, “neber did belieb in dem Bible preachers.  I yered one ob dem sayin’ wen he war dyin’, it war all dark wid him.  An’ de way he treated his house-girl, pore thing, I don’t wonder dat it war dark wid him.”

“O, I guess,” said Robert, “that the Bible is all right, but some of these church folks don’t get the right hang of it.”

“May be dat’s so,” said Aunt Linda.  “But I allers wanted to learn how to read.  I once had a book, and tried to make out what war in it, but ebery time my mistus caught me wid a book in my hand, she used to whip my fingers.  An’ I couldn’t see ef it war good for white folks, why it warn’t good for cullud folks.”