Mr. and Mrs. Garie sat looking
at the children, who were scampering about the garden in pursuit of a pet
rabbit which had escaped, and seemed determined not to be caught upon any
pretence whatever.

"Are they not beautiful?" said Mr. Garie, with pride, as they bounded past
him. "There are not two prettier children in all Georgia. You don't seem
half proud enough of them," he continued, looking down upon his wife
affectionately.

Mrs. Garie, who was half reclining on the seat, and leaning her head upon
his shoulder, replied, "Oh, yes, I am, Garie; I'm sure I love them
dearly--oh, so dearly!" continued she, fervently--"and I only wish"--here
she paused, as if she felt she had been going to say something that had
better remain unspoken.

"You only wish what, dear? You were going to say something," rejoined her
husband. "Come, out with it, and let me hear what it was."

"Oh, Garie, it was nothing of any consequence."

"Consequence or no consequence, let me hear what it was, dear."

"Well, as you insist on hearing it, I was about to say that I wish they
were not little slaves."

"Oh, Em! Em!" exclaimed he, reproachfully, "how can you speak in that
manner? I thought, dear, that you regarded me in any other light than that
of a master. What have I done to revive the recollection that any such
relation existed between us? Am I not always kind and affectionate? Did you
ever have a wish ungratified for a single day, if it was in my power to
compass it? or have I ever been harsh or neglectful?"

"Oh, no, dear, no--forgive me, Garie--do, pray, forgive me--you are
kindness itself--believe me, I did not think to hurt your feelings by
saying what I did. I know you do not treat me or them as though we were
slaves. But I cannot help feeling that we are such--and it makes me very
sad and unhappy sometimes. If anything should happen that you should be
taken away suddenly, think what would be our fate. Heirs would spring up
from somewhere, and we might be sold and separated for ever. Respecting
myself I might be indifferent, but regarding the children I cannot feel
so."

"Tut, tut, Em! don't talk so gloomily. Do you know of any one, now, who has
been hired to put me to death?" said he, smiling.

"Don't talk so, dear; remember, 'In the midst of life we are in death.' It
was only this morning I learned that Celeste--you remember Celeste, don't
you?--I cannot recall her last name."

"No, dear, I really can't say that I do remembe