ying
too long, for want of something to do."

"A very good plan. If you love your grandfather so, Euphrosyne, how
would you have loved your mother, if she had lived?"

"Had you a mother, when you were my age?"

"Yes, my dear. But do not let us speak of that. Do you remember your
mamma, my dear?"

"Yes--a little. I remember her sitting in a wood--on the ground--with
her head bent down upon her knees, and a great many black people about."

"Well--tell me no more. I ought not to have asked you. I was not
thinking of that horrid time."

"But I do not mind telling you. I like to speak of it; and I never can
to grandpapa--it makes him so ill. Mamma shook so, that I remember
putting my arms about her to keep her warm, till I found how burning hot
her hands were. My sisters were crying; and they told me not to ask any
more why papa did not come to us; for he was dead. I remember being
wakened by a noise when I was very sleepy, and seeing some soldiers.
One of them lifted me up, and I was frightened, till I saw that, they
were carrying mamma too. They put us both into a cart. I did not see
my sisters; and I believe they were both dead then, of grief and
hardship. And mamma never spoke again. She looked as pale as her gown,
as she lay in the cart, with her eyes shut. She was breathing, however,
and I thought she was asleep. I felt very sleepy and odd. The soldiers
said I was half-starved, and they gave me a plantain that they pulled by
the road-side. I wanted them to give some to mamma too; but they made
me no answer. I put mine into her hand, but she let it fall; and I
cried because she would not take any notice. Then one of the soldiers
bade me eat my plantain; and I thought I must do as I was bid. I forget
where we went next."

"You remember more than I had supposed. Your mother was brought on
board the ship where we were; and there she presently died."

"You were on board ship, madam?"

"Yes--all the sisters--for the town was not considered safe, even for
us."

"And where was--" Euphrosyne stopped abruptly.

"You were going to ask where my mother was," said the lady. "I feel
that I was wrong in stopping you as I did just, now--for you might fancy
that my mother was in some way to blame. She was a good mother to me--
full of kindness; but I did not make her happy."

"You did not?"

"Indeed I did not. I crossed her in the thing she desired most of all--
that we should live together. I