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Show 108 UNCJ~E TOM'S CABIN: On, Her father often did tho same thing; hut his frame was slighter, and when be wa.s ·weary, Eva would say to him, ': 0, papa, let Tom take me. Poor fellow! it pleases him; and you know it 's all he can do now, and he wants to do something ! " " So do I, Eva.! " said her fn.ther. "'Vel!, papa, you can do everything, and arc 0\'crything to me. You read to me,- you sit up nights,- and 'fom has only this one thing, and his singing; and I know, too, he does it easier than you can. He carries me so strong ! " The desire to do something was not confined to Tom. Every servant in the establishment showed the same feeling, and in their way did what they could. Poor ~fammy' s heart yearned towards her darling; but she found no opportunity, night or day, as Marie declared that the state of her mind was such, it was impossible for her to rest; and, of course, it was against her principles to let any one else rest. ~rwcnty times in a night, Mammy would be roused to rub her feet, to bathe her head, to find her pockethandkerchief, to sec what the noise was in Eva's room, to let down a. curtain because it was too light, or to put it up be~ausc it was too dark; and, in the day-time, when she longed to hrwe some share in the nursing of her pet: :Marie seemed unusua1ly ingenious in keeping her busy anywhere and everywhere all over the house, or about her mrn person ; so that stolen interviews and momc{ltary glimpses were all she could obtain. "I feel it my duty to be particularly careful of myself, now," she would say, "feeble as I am, and with the whole care and nursing of tha,t dear child upon me." "Indeed, my dear," said St. Clare, "I thought our cousin relieved you of that." r I I LIFE A MONo:"' TilE LOWLY. 109 "You talk like a man, St. Clare,- just as if a mother could be relieved of the care of a child in that state; but, then, it 's all a.like,- no one ever knows ,yhat I feel! I can't throw things off, as you do." St. Clare smiled. You must excuse him, he couldn't. help it,- for St. Clare could smile yet. For so bright and placid was the farewell voyage of the little spirit,- by such sweet and fragrant breezes was the small bark borne towards the heavenly shores,- that it was impossible to realize that it was death that was approaching. The child felt no pain,only a. tranquil, soft weakness, daily and almost insensibly increasing i and she was so beautiful, so loving, so trustful, so happy, that one could not resist the soothing influence of that air of innocence and peace which seemed to breathe arouml her. St. Clare found a strange calm coming over him. It was not hope,- that was impossible; it was not resignation i it was only a. calm resting in the present, which seemed so beautiful that he wished to think of no futuro. It was like that hush of spirit which we feel amid the bright, mild woods of autumn, when the bright hectic flush is on the trees, and the last lingering flowers by the brook; and we joy in it all the more, because we know that soon it will all pass away. The friend who knew most of Eva's own imaginings and forcshadowings was her faithful bearer, ~rom. 'l,o him she said what she would not disturb her father by saying. To him sho imparted those mysterious intimations which the soul feels, as the cords begin to unbind, ere it leaves its clay forever. Tom, at last, would not sleep in his room, but lay all night # in the outer verandah, ready to rouse at every call. "Uncle Tom, what alive have you taken to sleeping anywhere and everywhere, like a dog, for?" said Miss Ophelia. VOL. II. 10 |