"I declare it's a shame! I don't care what they say, any of them. It's a
nasty mean shame! If I was a man, they shouldn't do it," said George.

"Oh, Mas'r George! this does me good!" said Tom. "I couldn't bear to go
off without seein' ye! It does me real good, ye can't tell!" Here Tom
made some movement of his feet, and George's eyes fell on the fetters.

"What a shame!" he exclaimed, lifting his hands. "I'll knock that old
fellow down--I will!"

"No, you won't, Mas'r George; and you must not talk so loud. It won't
help me any, to anger him."

"Well, I won't, then, for your sake; but only to think of it--isn't it a
shame? They never sent for me, nor sent me any word, and, if it hadn't
been for Tom Lincoln, I shouldn't have heard it. I tell you, I blew them
up well, all of them, at home."

"That wasn't right, I'm feared, Mas'r George."

"Can't help it! I say it's a shame! Look here, Uncle Tom," said he,
turning his back to the rest of the party, and speaking in a mysterious
tone, "_I've brought you my dollar!_"

"Oh, I couldn't think o' takin' it, Mas'r George, no ways in the world,"
said Tom, quite moved.

"But you shall take it," said George. "Look here; I told Aunt Chloe I'd
do it, and she advised me just to make a hole in it, and put a string
through, so you could hang it round your neck, and keep it out of sight,
else this mean scamp would take it away. I tell ye, Tom, I want to blow
him up! it would do me good."

"No, don't, Mas'r George, for it won't do _me_ any good."

"Well, I won't, for your sake," said George, busily tying his dollar
round Tom's neck; "but there, now, button your coat tight over it, and
keep it, and remember, every time you see it, that I'll come down after
you, and bring you back. Aunt Chloe and I have been talking about it. I
told her not to fear; I'll see to it, and I'll tease father's life out
if he don't do it."

"O, Mas'r George, ye mustn't talk so about your father! You must be a
good boy; remember how many hearts is set on ye. Always keep close to
yer mother. Don't be gettin' into them foolish ways boys has of gettin'
too big to mind their mothers. Tell ye what, Mas'r George, the Lord
gives good many things twice over; but he don't give ye a mother but
once. Ye'll never see sich another woman, Mas'r George, if ye live to
be a hundred years old. So, now, you hold on to her, and grow up, and be
a comfort to her, thar's my own good boy--you will, now, won't ye?"

"Yes, I