elf to the permanence of art, an everlasting duty
of mankind; terrible if a thing of force, and compulsion and for
another's gain, but the birthright of the children of Adam, and not
unrewarded nor unnatural when one drew by it one's own life from the
earth.

Peter glanced through the hedge-rows furtively, this way and that.
What would his mistress say to the cabins that were scattered all
about the fields now, and that were no longer put together in the long
lines of the quarters? He looked down a deserted lane, where he well
remembered fifty cabins on each side of the way. It was gay there of a
summer evening; the old times had not been without their pleasures,
and the poor old man's heart leaped with the vague delight of his
memories. He had never been on the block; he was born and bred at old
Sydenham; he had been trusted in house and field.

"I done like dem ole times de best," ventures Peter, presently, to his
unresponding companion. "Dere was good 'bout dem times. I say I like
de ole times good as any. Young folks may be a change f'om me."

He was growing gray in the face with apprehension; he did not dare to
disobey.

The slow-footed beast of burden was carrying them toward Sydenham step
by step, and he dreaded the moment of arrival. He was like a
mesmerized creature, who can only obey the force of a directing will;
but under pretense of handling the steer's harness, he got stiffly to
the ground to look at his mistress. He could not turn to face her, as
he sat in the cart; he could not drive any longer and feel her there
behind him. The silence was too great. It was a relief to see her
placid face, and to see even a more youthful look in its worn lines.
She had been a very beautiful woman in her young days. And a solemn
awe fell upon Peter's tender heart, lest the veil might be lifting
from her hidden past, and there, alone with him on the old plantation,
she would die of grief and pain. God only knew what might happen! The
old man mounted to his seat, and again they plodded on.

"Peter," said the mistress,--he was always frightened when she
spoke,--"Peter, we must hurry. I was late in starting. I have a great
deal to do. Urge the horses."

"Yas, mis',--yas, mis'," and Peter laughed aloud nervously, and
brandished his sassafras switch, while the steer hastened a little.
They had come almost to the gates.

"Who are these?" the stately wayfarer asked once, as they met some
persons who gazed at them in ast