ays ashamed to take
idees from you. We oughtenter overlook nobody, Andy, cause the smartest
on us gets tripped up sometimes. And so, Andy, let's go up to the house
now. I'll be boun' Missis'll give us an uncommon good bite, dis yer
time."

CHAPTER VII

The Mother's Struggle

It is impossible to conceive of a human creature more wholly desolate
and forlorn than Eliza, when she turned her footsteps from Uncle Tom's
cabin.

Her husband's suffering and dangers, and the danger of her child, all
blended in her mind, with a confused and stunning sense of the risk she
was running, in leaving the only home she had ever known, and cutting
loose from the protection of a friend whom she loved and revered. Then
there was the parting from every familiar object,--the place where she
had grown up, the trees under which she had played, the groves where
she had walked many an evening in happier days, by the side of her young
husband,--everything, as it lay in the clear, frosty starlight, seemed
to speak reproachfully to her, and ask her whither could she go from a
home like that?

But stronger than all was maternal love, wrought into a paroxysm of
frenzy by the near approach of a fearful danger. Her boy was old enough
to have walked by her side, and, in an indifferent case, she would only
have led him by the hand; but now the bare thought of putting him out
of her arms made her shudder, and she strained him to her bosom with a
convulsive grasp, as she went rapidly forward.

The frosty ground creaked beneath her feet, and she trembled at the
sound; every quaking leaf and fluttering shadow sent the blood backward
to her heart, and quickened her footsteps. She wondered within herself
at the strength that seemed to be come upon her; for she felt the weight
of her boy as if it had been a feather, and every flutter of fear seemed
to increase the supernatural power that bore her on, while from her
pale lips burst forth, in frequent ejaculations, the prayer to a Friend
above--"Lord, help! Lord, save me!"

If it were _your_ Harry, mother, or your Willie, that were going to be
torn from you by a brutal trader, tomorrow morning,--if you had seen the
man, and heard that the papers were signed and delivered, and you had
only from twelve o'clock till morning to make good your escape,--how
fast could _you_ walk? How many miles could you make in those few brief
hours, with the darling at your bosom,--the little sleepy head on your
should