ct, and he
dared not knock at the door. After he had waited for some time, still
with tears in his eyes, Mastor came into the passage with the remains
of his master's breakfast. The negro called to him and held out the
steward's letter, stammering out lamentably:

"From Keraunus, for you master."

"Lay it here on the tray," said the Sarmatian. "But what has happened to
you, my old friend? you are wailing most pitifully and look miserable.
Have you been beaten?"

The negro shook his head and answered, whimpering: "Keraunus is going to
sell me."

"There are better masters than he."

"But Sebek is old, Sebek is weak--he can no longer lift and pull, and
with hard work he will certainly die."

"Has life been so easy and comfortable then at the steward's?"

"Very little wine, very little meat, very much hunger," said the old
man.

"Then you must be glad to leave him."

"No, no," groaned Sebek.

"You foolish old owl," said Mastor. "Why do you care then for that
grumpy niggard?"

The negro did not answer for some time, then his lean breast heaved
and fell, and, as if the dam were broken through that had choked his
utterance, he burst out with a mixture of loud sobs:

"The children, the little ones, our little ones. They are so sweet;
and our little blind Helios stroked my hair because I was to go away,
here--just here he stroked it"--and he put his hand on a perfectly bald
place--"and now Sebek must go and never see them all again, just as if
they were all dead."

And the words rolled out and with difficulty, as if carried on in the
flood of his tears. They went to Mastor's heart, rousing the memory
of his own lost children and a strong desire to comfort his unhappy
comrade.

"Poor fellow!" he said, compassionately. "Aye, the children! they are so
small, and the door into one's heart is so narrow--and they dance in at
it a thousand times better and more easily than grown-up folks. I, too,
have lost dear children, and they were my own, too. I can teach any
one what is meant by sorrow--but I know too now where comfort is to be
found." With these words Mastor held the tray he was carrying on his hip
with his right hand, while he put the left on the negro's shoulder and
whispered to him:

"Have you ever heard of the Christians?"

Sebek nodded eagerly as if Mastor were speaking of a matter of which he
had heard great things and expected much, and Mastor went on in a low
voice "Come early to-morrow before sunri