him for his breakfas' now! He'll be dreffle
hungry, that's sartin. Make a rousin' good big Johnny-cake, mammy; and,
Creshy, you stop botherin', and slice up them 'ere taters for fryin'."

Soon the odor of the cooking stole up into the garret. Fessenden's
snuffed it with delighted senses. The feeling of his garments dry and
whole pleased him mightily. He heard the call to breakfast; and laughing
and rubbing his eyes, he followed Joe down the dark, uncertain footing
of the stairs.

The family was already huddled about the table. But room was reserved
for their guest, and at his appearance the old patriarch rose smilingly
from his seat, pulled off his cap, which it seemed he always wore, and
shook hands with him, with the usual hospitable greeting.

"Sarvant, Sah! Welcome, Sah!"

Fessenden's was given a seat by his side. And the old woman piled his
plate with good things. And he ate, and was filled. For he was by no
means dainty, and had not, simple soul! the least prejudice against
color.

And he was happy. The friendly black faces around him,--the cheerful,
sympathetic, rich-toned voices,--the motherly kindness of the old
woman,--the exquisite smiling politeness of the old man, who got up and
shook hands with him, on an average, every half-hour,--the
Bible-reading,--the singing,--the praying,--the elegance and
condescension of Gentleman Bill,--the pleasant looks and words of the
laughing-eyed girls,--and the irrepressible merriment of Joe, made that
a golden Sabbath in the lad's life.

Alas that it should come to this! Associate with black folks! how
shocking! What if he was a--Fessenden's? wasn't he white? Where were
those finer tastes and instincts which make you and me shrink from
persons of color? Pity they had not been properly developed in him! Pity
he should stoop so low as to eat and sleep with niggers, and feel
grateful! He rolls and tumbles in mad frolic with Joe on the
garret-floor, and plays horse with him. He suffers his hair to be combed
by the girls, and actually experiences pleasure at the touch of their
gentle hands, and feels a vague wondering joy when they praise his
smooth flaxen locks. In a word, he is so weak as to wish that good Mr.
Williams was his father, and this delightful hut his home!

And so he spends his Sunday. The family does not attend public worship.
They used to, when the old meeting-house was standing, and the old
minister was alive. But they do not feel at ease in the new ed