I don't know what
made me think it was you, but I did think so. I missed Ellen, the night
before she went away; and grandmother brought her back into the room in the
night; and I thought maybe she'd been to see _you_, before she went, for I
heard grandmother whisper to her, 'Now go to sleep; and remember never to
tell.'"

I asked him if he ever mentioned his suspicions to his sister. He said he
never did; but after he heard the cough, if he saw her playing with other
children on that side of the house, he always tried to coax her round to
the other side, for fear they would hear me cough, too. He said he had kept
a close lookout for Dr. Flint, and if he saw him speak to a constable, or a
patrol, he always told grandmother. I now recollected that I had seen him
manifest uneasiness, when people were on that side of the house, and I had
at the time been puzzled to conjecture a motive for his actions. Such
prudence may seem extraordinary in a boy of twelve years, but slaves, being
surrounded by mysteries, deceptions, and dangers, early learn to be
suspicious and watchful, and prematurely cautious and cunning. He had never
asked a question of grandmother, or uncle Phillip, and I had often heard
him chime in with other children, when they spoke of my being at the north.

I told him I was now really going to the Free States, and if he was a good,
honest boy, and a loving child to his dear old grandmother, the Lord would
bless him, and bring him to me, and we and Ellen would live together. He
began to tell me that grandmother had not eaten any thing all day. While he
was speaking, the door was unlocked, and she came in with a small bag of
money, which she wanted me to take. I begged her to keep a part of it, at
least, to pay for Benny's being sent to the north; but she insisted, while
her tears were falling fast, that I should take the whole. "You may be sick
among strangers," she said, "and they would send you to the poorhouse to
die." Ah, that good grandmother!

For the last time I went up to my nook. Its desolate appearance no longer
chilled me, for the light of hope had risen in my soul. Yet, even with the
blessed prospect of freedom before me, I felt very sad at leaving forever
that old homestead, where I had been sheltered so long by the dear old
grandmother; where I had dreamed my first young dream of love; and where,
after that had faded away, my children came to twine themselves so closely
round my desolate heart. As