amusement. Sometimes a
broken toy or a shining trinket, which she had picked up in the house,
or a smooth pebble from the yard, would be added to the treasures of the
little one. Then she would come with food, the soft-boiled rice, or the
sweet corn gruel, she knew so well how to prepare; and often, often
she would steal in, as now, out of pure fondness, to watch its peaceful
slumbers.

"Named the pickaninny yet?" asked the master one day, as he passed
the cabin, and carelessly looked in upon the mother and child amusing
themselves within. "'Tis time you did; 'most time to turn her off now,
you see."

"Oh, Massa, don't say dat word," answered the woman, imploringly.
"'Pears I couldn't b'ar to turn her off yet,--couldn't live without her,
no ways. Reckon I'll call her Tidy; dat ar's my sister's name, and she's
got dat same sweet look 'bout de eyes,--don't you think so, Massa? Poor
Tidy! she's"--and Annie stopped, and a deep sigh, instead of words,
filled up the sentence, and tears dropped down upon the baby's forehead.
Memory traveled back to that dreadful night when this only sister had
been dragged from her bed, chained with a slave-gang, and driven off to
the dreaded South, never more to be heard from.

WE talk of the "sunny South;"--to the slave, the South is cold, dark,
and cheerless; the land of untold horrors, the grave of hope and joy.

"'Pears as if my poor old mudder," said Annie, brushing away the tears,
"never got up right smart after Tidy went away. She'd had six children
sold from her afore, and she set stores by her and me, 'cause we was
girls, and we was all she had left, too. Tidy was pooty as a flower;
and dat's just what your fadder, Massa Carroll, sold her for. My poor
mudder--how she cried and took on! but then she grew more settled like.
She said she'd gi'n her up for de good Lord to take care on. She said,
if he could take care of de posies in de woods, he certain sure would
look after her, and so she left off groaning like; but she's never got
over that sad look in her face. 'Oh,' says she to me, says she, 'Annie,
do call dat leetle cretur's name Tidy,--mebbe 'twill make my poor, sore
heart heal up;' and so I will."

"So I would, Annie; yes, so I would," said the Master soothingly. "So I
would, if 'twill be any comfort to poor old Marcia,--clever old soul she
is. She was my mammy, and I was always fond of her. She has trotted me
on her knee, and toted me about on her back, many an hour. I mus