"Gone! All gone! Why _don't_ God kill
me?" I had no words wherewith to comfort her. Instances of this kind are of
daily, yea, of hourly occurrence.

Slaveholders have a method, peculiar to their institution, of getting rid
of _old_ slaves, whose lives have been worn out in their service. I knew an
old woman, who for seventy years faithfully served her master. She had
become almost helpless, from hard labor and disease. Her owners moved to
Alabama, and the old black woman was left to be sold to any body who would
give twenty dollars for her.

IV. The Slave Who Dared To Feel Like A Man.

Two years had passed since I entered Dr. Flint's family, and those years
had brought much of the knowledge that comes from experience, though they
had afforded little opportunity for any other kinds of knowledge.

My grandmother had, as much as possible, been a mother to her orphan
grandchildren. By perseverance and unwearied industry, she was now mistress
of a snug little home, surrounded with the necessaries of life. She would
have been happy could her children have shared them with her. There
remained but three children and two grandchildren, all slaves. Most
earnestly did she strive to make us feel that it was the will of God: that
He had seen fit to place us under such circumstances; and though it seemed
hard, we ought to pray for contentment.

It was a beautiful faith, coming from a mother who could not call her
children her own. But I, and Benjamin, her youngest boy, condemned it. We
reasoned that it was much more the will of God that we should be situated
as she was. We longed for a home like hers. There we always found sweet
balsam for our troubles. She was so loving, so sympathizing! She always met
us with a smile, and listened with patience to all our sorrows. She spoke
so hopefully, that unconsciously the clouds gave place to sunshine. There
was a grand big oven there, too, that baked bread and nice things for the
town, and we knew there was always a choice bit in store for us.

But, alas! Even the charms of the old oven failed to reconcile us to our
hard lot. Benjamin was now a tall, handsome lad, strongly and gracefully
made, and with a spirit too bold and daring for a slave. My brother
William, now twelve years old, had the same aversion to the word master
that he had when he was an urchin of seven years. I was his confidant. He
came to me with all his troubles. I remember one instance in particular. It
was on a