tell yer what, stranger, it was years and years before I'd jine
the church, 'cause the ministers round in our parts used to preach that
the Bible went in for these ere cuttings up,--and I couldn't be up to
'em with their Greek and Hebrew, and so I took up agin 'em, Bible and
all. I never jined the church till I found a minister that was up to 'em
all in Greek and all that, and he said right the contrary; and then I
took right hold, and jined the church,--I did now, fact," said John, who
had been all this time uncorking some very frisky bottled cider, which
at this juncture he presented.

"Ye'd better jest put up here, now, till daylight," said he, heartily,
"and I'll call up the old woman, and have a bed got ready for you in no
time."

"Thank you, my good friend," said the senator, "I must be along, to take
the night stage for Columbus."

"Ah! well, then, if you must, I'll go a piece with you, and show you a
cross road that will take you there better than the road you came on.
That road's mighty bad."

John equipped himself, and, with a lantern in hand, was soon seen
guiding the senator's carriage towards a road that ran down in a hollow,
back of his dwelling. When they parted, the senator put into his hand a
ten-dollar bill.

"It's for her," he said, briefly.

"Ay, ay," said John, with equal conciseness.

They shook hands, and parted.

CHAPTER X

The Property Is Carried Off

The February morning looked gray and drizzling through the window of
Uncle Tom's cabin. It looked on downcast faces, the images of mournful
hearts. The little table stood out before the fire, covered with an
ironing-cloth; a coarse but clean shirt or two, fresh from the iron,
hung on the back of a chair by the fire, and Aunt Chloe had another
spread out before her on the table. Carefully she rubbed and ironed
every fold and every hem, with the most scrupulous exactness, every now
and then raising her hand to her face to wipe off the tears that were
coursing down her cheeks.

Tom sat by, with his Testament open on his knee, and his head leaning
upon his hand;--but neither spoke. It was yet early, and the children
lay all asleep together in their little rude trundle-bed.

Tom, who had, to the full, the gentle, domestic heart, which woe for
them! has been a peculiar characteristic of his unhappy race, got up and
walked silently to look at his children.

"It's the last time," he said.

Aunt Chloe did not answer, only rubbed awa