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Show 28 UNCLE TOM'S CABIN; on, fe1low,- trusty and true as steel. lie cmb~·aced Christianity afterwards, a.nd became us gentle as a clnld. He used to oversee my place on tho lake, and did it capitally, too. I lost him the first cholera season. In fact, be hid down l1is life for me. For I was sick, almost to death; and '"hen, through the panic, everybody else fled, Scipio worked for me like a giant, and actually brought me back mto life agam. But, poor fellow! he was taken, right after, and there was no saving him. I never felt anybody's loss more." Eva had come gradually nearer and nearer to her father, as he told the story,- her small lips apart, her eyes wide and earnest with absorbing interest. As be finished, she suddenly threw her arms around his neck, burst into tears, and sobbed convulsively. "Eva, dear child! '"hat is the matter 1" said St. Clare, as the child's small frame trembled and shook with tho violence of her feelings. "This child," ho added, ' 1 ought not to hear any of this kind of thing,- she's nervous." "No, papa, I'm not nervous," saiU Eva., controlling herself, suddenly, with a strength of resolution singular in such a child. "I'm not nervous, but these things sink into 1ny heart." '' 'Vhat do you mean, Eva?'' "I can't tell you, papa. I think a great many thoughts. Perhaps some <lay I shall tell you." "'Yell, think away, dear,- only don't cry anU vmrry your papa," said St. Clare. ''Look here,- sec what a beautiful poach I have got for you ! " Eva. took it, and smiled, though there was still a nervous twitching 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 LlFJ:.: AMONG THE LOWLY. 29 merry laughs were heard through the silken curtains, as Eva and St. Clare were pelting each other with roses, and chasing each other among tho alleys of the court. There is danger that our bumble friend Tom be neglected runid the adventures of the higher born; but, if our readers will accompany us up to a little loft over tho 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 hlm, intent on something that seems to cost him a grea.t 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 be bad 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. "0, Uncle Tom! what funny things you are making, there!'' '' I'm trying to write to my poor old woman, ~iiss Eva, and my little chil'cn," 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, 11om! I've learnt to writo VOL. II. 3* |