g to the old negro who was looking on in
silent wonder and grief, she enquired in a calm tone: "Have you any of
the money left that I gave you this morning?"

"Yes, missis," she replied. "I got some left."

"How much is it?" asked Mrs. Wentworth.

"Twelve dollars," she answered, counting the notes that she had taken
from her pocket.

"Will that be enough to pay for a coffin for my child?" Mrs. Wentworth
enquired.

"I don't know, but I spect it will do," replied the old negro.

"To make sure that it will be enough," observed Mrs. Wentworth, "here
is some more money to pay for it." As she spoke she handed several
notes to the old woman. "And now," she continued, "I want you to go
out and order a coffin, as I want the child to be buried to-morrow
morning."

"I spec I better get de parson to preach over de poor chile," remarked
the old woman, who was a strict member of the church, and very
superstitious in relation to the evils that would accrue from a
departure from all that is laid down in religious tenets.

"Yes, yes!" Mrs. Wentworth replied. "But there is no necessity of
going for him this evening, wait until early in the morning, that time
will do well enough."

The old woman curtsied and moved out of the room. Arriving in town she
entered an undertaker's shop and enquired if he could furnish a coffin
by the next morning. On his answering in the affirmative she paid him
twenty dollars, the amount charged, and hastened back to her cabin.
The interest manifested by this old woman, was that usually shown to
all persons in distress by the faithful slave of the South. She had
not even learned Mrs. Wentworth's name, but the sight of her sad and
haggard features, as well as the death of Ella, had awaken a feeling
of sympathy for the unfortunate family; thus we see her obeying the
orders of her accidental guests, without making any objections. But to
return to the dead.

As soon as Mrs. Wentworth was left alone, her face assumed its natural
appearance, and the rigid expression it had hitherto worn was
dispelled. Opening a bundle she had brought front her room, she took
out a white dress. It was one of the few remaining articles of
clothing she possessed, and had only been saved at the earnest
solicitation of the little Ella. It was her bridal robe; in that she
had walked up to the altar and plighted her troth to the loved husband
who was now a prisoner and far away. The first and last time she had
worn it was on