all the fatherless."

"Oh! could my own father have brought me into the world and hated me?"
Virgie said. "They say I am almost beautiful. Will he who gave me life
never call me his, and say, 'My daughter, come to my respect, rest on my
heart, and take my name'?"

"Poor Virgie!" sighed Mary; "remember we are black! We hardly ever have
fathers: they is for white people."

"Dog my hide!" mumbled Wonnell, above, "ef a bird ain't a perwerse
critter. Purty Roxy won't think I'm smart a bit ef I can't make Tom say
'Roxy, Roxy, Roxy! Pore Jack!'"

"I am almost white," Virgie continued; "I want to be all white. Why
can't I be so? The Lord knows my heart is white, and full of holy,
unselfish love."

"Pore chile!" Mary said; "we shall all be washed and made white in the
Lamb's blood, Virgie. That's where your soul pints you to, dear young
lady. I know it ain't pride and rebellion in you: it's like I'm looking
at my baby, white as snow to me and God now."

"Hush!" said Virgie, trembling, "what voice is that?"

There was an old willow-tree in a recessed spot at the end of the store,
and by it were two sheds or small buildings, now disused, into one of
which, with a door low to the ground, Mary drew Virgie, and they
listened to a low voice saying,

"Dave, air your pops well slugged?"

"Yes, Mars Joe."

"Allan McLane pays fur the job?"

"Yes, Mars Joe."

"You can't mistake him, Dave. No shap is worn like that nowadays. Look
only fur his headpiece, and aim well!"

"Yes, Mars Joe."

"Fur me," continued the other voice, "I'll go right to the tavern an'
prove an _alibi_. My lay is to take the house gal that old Gripefist's
young wife thinks so much of. I'll snake her out to-night. She's the
property of Allan McLane, left him in his sister's will. They found on
her body the paper giving the gal to the dead woman only two days
before. She's Allan's to-morrow, but to-night she's mine!"

A sensual, sucking, chuckling sound, like a kiss made upon the back of
his own hand, followed this significant threat; and Mary, placing her
hand over the sinking slave girl's mouth, held her motionless.

"Tommy, Tommy! sing 'Roxy, Roxy, Roxy! Pore Jack! Pore Jack!' Sing,
Tommy, sing!"

"_There_," whispered the white man, softly, and was gone.

Mary breathed only the words to Virgie, "_Kidnappers_--come!" and they
glided from the old tenement unobserved, and entered the copse along the
stream.

"Pore Jack! Pore Jack! His leetle Roxy'