ook here,--see what a beautiful peach I have got for you."

Eva took it and smiled, though there was still a nervous twiching 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 merry laughs were heard
through the silken curtains, as Eva and St. Clare were pelting each
other with roses, and chasing each other among the alleys of the court.

There is danger that our humble friend Tom be neglected amid the
adventures of the higher born; but, if our readers will accompany us up
to a little loft over the 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 him, intent on something that
seems to cost him a great 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 he had 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.

"O, Uncle Tom! what funny things you _are_ making, there!"

"I'm trying to write to my poor old woman, Miss Eva, and my little
chil'en," 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, Tom! I've learnt to write some. Last year I
could make all the letters, but I'm afraid I've forgotten."

So Eva put her golden head close to his, and the two commenced a grave
and anxious discussion, each one equally earnest, and about equally
ignorant; and, with a deal of consulting and advising over every word,
the composition began, as they both felt very sanguine, to look quite
like writing.

"Yes, Uncle Tom, it really begins to look beautiful," said Eva, gazing
delightedly on it. "How pleased your wife'll be, and the poor little
children! O, it's a shame you ever had to go away from them! I mean to
ask pa