Eva took it and smiled, though there was still a nervous twiching about the corners of her mouth.

“Come, look at the gold-fish,” said St. Clare, taking her hand and stepping on to the verandah.  A few moments, and merry laughs were heard through the silken curtains, as Eva and St. Clare were pelting each other with roses, and chasing each other among the alleys of the court.

There is danger that our humble friend Tom be neglected amid the adventures of the higher born; but, if our readers will accompany us up to a little loft over the stable, they may, perhaps, learn a little of his affairs.  It was a decent room, containing a bed, a chair, and a small, rough stand, where lay Tom’s Bible and hymn-book; and where he sits, at present, with his slate before him, intent on something that seems to cost him a great deal of anxious thought.

The fact was, that Tom’s home-yearnings had become so strong that he had begged a sheet of writing-paper of Eva, and, mustering up all his small stock of literary attainment acquired by Mas’r George’s instructions, he conceived the bold idea of writing a letter; and he was busy now, on his slate, getting out his first draft.  Tom was in a good deal of trouble, for the forms of some of the letters he had forgotten entirely; and of what he did remember, he did not know exactly which to use.  And while he was working, and breathing very hard, in his earnestness, Eva alighted, like a bird, on the round of his chair behind him, and peeped over his shoulder.

“O, Uncle Tom! what funny things you are making, there!”

“I’m trying to write to my poor old woman, Miss Eva, and my little chil’en,” said Tom, drawing the back of his hand over his eyes; “but, some how, I’m feard I shan’t make it out.”

“I wish I could help you, Tom!  I’ve learnt to write some.  Last year I could make all the letters, but I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.”

So Eva put her golden head close to his, and the two commenced a grave and anxious discussion, each one equally earnest, and about equally ignorant; and, with a deal of consulting and advising over every word, the composition began, as they both felt very sanguine, to look quite like writing.

“Yes, Uncle Tom, it really begins to look beautiful,” said Eva, gazing delightedly on it.  “How pleased your wife’ll be, and the poor little children!  O, it’s a shame you ever had to go away from them!  I mean to ask papa to let you go back, some time.”

“Missis said that she would send down money for me, as soon as they could get it together,” said Tom.  “I’m ’spectin, she will.  Young Mas’r George, he said he’d come for me; and he gave me this yer dollar as a sign;” and Tom drew from under his clothes the precious dollar.

“O, he’ll certainly come, then!” said Eva.  “I’m so glad!”

“And I wanted to send a letter, you know, to let ’em know whar I was, and tell poor Chloe that I was well off,—­cause she felt so drefful, poor soul!”