ld you like your liberty, if you could get it, though?" said Mr.
Marvyn, "Answer me honestly."

"Why, to be sure I should! Who wouldn't? Mind ye," she said, earnestly
raising her black, heavy hand, "'ta'n't dat I want to go off, or want to
shirk work; but I want to _feel free_. Dem dat isn't free has nuffin to
gib to nobody;--dey can't show what dey would do."

"Well, Candace, from this day you are free," said Mr. Marvyn, solemnly.

Candace covered her face with both her fat hands, and shook and
trembled, and, finally, throwing her apron over her head, made a
desperate rush for the door, and threw herself down in the kitchen in a
perfect tropical torrent of tears and sobs.

"You see," said the Doctor, "what freedom is to every human creature.
The blessing of the Lord will be on this deed, Mr. Marvyn. 'The steps of
a just man are ordered by the Lord, and he delighteth in his way.'"

At this moment, Candace reappeared at the door, her butterfly turban
somewhat deranged with the violence of her prostration, giving a
whimsical air to her portly person.

"I want ye all to know," she said, with a clearing-up snuff, "dat it's
my will an' pleasure to go right on doin' my work jes' de same; an',
Missis, please, I'll allers put three eggs in de crullers, now; an' I
won't turn de wash-basin down in de sink, but hang it jam-up on de
nail; an' I won't pick up chips in a milkpan, ef I'm in ever so big a
hurry;--I'll do eberyting jes' as ye tells me. Now you try me an' see ef
I won't!"

Candace here alluded to some of the little private wilfulnesses which
she had always obstinately cherished as reserved rights, in pursuing
domestic matters with her mistress.

"I intend," said Mr. Marvyn, "to make the same offer to your husband,
when he returns from work to-night."

"Laus, Mass'r,--why, Cato he'll do jes' as I do,--dere a'n't no kind o'
need o' askin' him. 'Course he will."

A smile passed round the circle, because between Candace and her husband
there existed one of those whimsical contrasts which one sometimes sees
in married life. Cato was a small-built, thin, softly-spoken negro,
addicted to a gentle chronic cough; and, though a faithful and skilful
servant, seemed, in relation to his better half, much like a hill of
potatoes under a spreading apple-tree. Candace held to him with a
vehement and patronizing fondness, so devoid of conjugal reverence as to
excite the comments of her friends.

"You must remember, Candace,"