angerous places, rough,
sooty hands were stretched involuntarily out to save her, and smooth her
path.

Tom, who had the soft, impressible nature of his kindly race, ever
yearning toward the simple and childlike, watched the little creature
with daily increasing interest. To him she seemed something almost
divine; and whenever her golden head and deep blue eyes peered out upon
him from behind some dusky cotton-bale, or looked down upon him over
some ridge of packages, he half believed that he saw one of the angels
stepped out of his New Testament.

Often and often she walked mournfully round the place where Haley's gang
of men and women sat in their chains. She would glide in among them,
and look at them with an air of perplexed and sorrowful earnestness; and
sometimes she would lift their chains with her slender hands, and then
sigh wofully, as she glided away. Several times she appeared suddenly
among them, with her hands full of candy, nuts, and oranges, which she
would distribute joyfully to them, and then be gone again.

Tom watched the little lady a great deal, before he ventured on any
overtures towards acquaintanceship. He knew an abundance of simple acts
to propitiate and invite the approaches of the little people, and he
resolved to play his part right skilfully. He could cut cunning
little baskets out of cherry-stones, could make grotesque faces on
hickory-nuts, or odd-jumping figures out of elder-pith, and he was a
very Pan in the manufacture of whistles of all sizes and sorts. His
pockets were full of miscellaneous articles of attraction, which he
had hoarded in days of old for his master's children, and which he
now produced, with commendable prudence and economy, one by one, as
overtures for acquaintance and friendship.

The little one was shy, for all her busy interest in everything going
on, and it was not easy to tame her. For a while, she would perch like
a canary-bird on some box or package near Tom, while busy in the little
arts afore-named, and take from him, with a kind of grave bashfulness,
the little articles he offered. But at last they got on quite
confidential terms.

"What's little missy's name?" said Tom, at last, when he thought matters
were ripe to push such an inquiry.

"Evangeline St. Clare," said the little one, "though papa and everybody
else call me Eva. Now, what's your name?"

"My name's Tom; the little chil'en used to call me Uncle Tom, way back
thar in Kentuck."

"Then