by the old woman’s side, read to her scenes in the life of Christ, upon which servants love to dwell.  But as far as they could judge, there were no good impressions left on her mind.  She never objected, but she gave them no encouragement.  This Phillis had often thought of; and now as she sat with her, it occurred to her with overwhelming force.  “Death’s about somewhere,” said Aunt Peggy.  “I can’t see him, but I feels him.  There’s somefin here belongs to him; he wants it, and he’s gwine to have it.”

“’Pears to me,” said Phillis, “Death’s always about.  Its well to be ready for him when he ’comes; ’specially we old people.”

“Always ole people,” said Aunt Peggy, “you want to make out that Death’s always arter ole people.  No such thing.  Look at the churchyard, yonder.  See any little graves thar?  Plenty.  Death’s always arter babies; ’pears like he loves ’em best of all.”

“Yes,” said Phillis, “young people die as well as old, but ’taint no harm to be ready.  You know, Aunt Peggy, we aint never ready till our sins is repented of, and our souls is washed in the blood of Jesus.  People ought to think of that, old and young, but they don’t.”

“Death loves young people,” said Aunt Peggy; “always arter ’em.  See how he took young Mr. William Jones, thar, in town, and he healthy and strong, wid his young bride; and his father and mother old like me.  See how he took little George Mason, not long ago, that Uncle Geoffrey used to bring home wid him from town, setting on de horse, before him.  Didn’t touch his ole grandmother; she’s here yet.  Tell you, Death loves ’em wid de red cheeks and bright eyes.”

Phillis did not reply, and the old woman talked on as if to herself.

“Thinks thar’s nothin bad but what comes to niggers; aint I had nuff trouble widout Death.  I aint forgot de time I was hauled away from home.  Cuss him, ’twas a black man done it; he told me he’d smash my brains out if I made a sound.  Dragged along till I come to de river; thar he sold me.  I was pushed in long wid all de rest of ’em, crying and howlin—­gwine away for good and all.  Thar we was, chained and squeezed together; dead or live, all one.  Tied me to a woman, and den untied me to fling her into de sea—­dead all night, and I tied to her.  Come long, cross de great sea; more died, more flung to de sharks.  No wonder it thundered and lightened, and de waves splashed in, and de captain prayed.  Lord above! de captain prayed, when he was stealin and murderin of his fellow-creeturs.  We didn’t go down, we got safe across.  Some went here, some went thar, and I come long wid de rest to Virginny.  Ever sence, workin and slavin; ever sence, sweatin and drivin; workin all day, workin all night.”

“You never worked a bit in the night time, Aunt Peggy,” said Phillis; “and you know it.”

“Worked all time,” said Aunt Peggy, “niggers aint made for nothin else.  Now, kase Death’s somewhar, wantin somefin, thinks it must be me.”