nows. I suppose he spends it in religious
pocket-handkerchiefs and pious bed-quilts for the little niggers in
Africa, or something of the sort. At any rate, he has none to spare for
those nearer home." He was about to say more, but happening to raise
his eyes he was astonished to see the old butler, who had been slowly
drawing nearer and nearer, raising his right arm, and looking at him
almost fiercely, as though he were going to strike him.--"What's up now,
Harry?" he cried; "is the black cat dead?"

The old man's appearance now attracted every one's attention. He had
drawn himself up to his full height, and had turned so as to confront
Mr Huntingdon, who was sitting with his sister by his side on a garden
bench facing the house. His snow-white hair gave him ordinarily a
venerable appearance, and this was now increased by the look of intense
earnestness which glowed in his every feature. His back was to Amos,
who, noticing that the old man was evidently about to speak under the
pressure of some unusual excitement, half rose to his feet, but too late
to stop old Harry's purpose.

"Master," said the old man, in a voice hoarse with emotion, "hear me; if
it's to be for the last time, you must hear me. I can't hold in no
longer; so it's no use, come what may."

Mr Huntingdon, struck with amazement at this speech of the old
domestic, could only exclaim, "Well!" while his sister and Walter looked
on and listened in mute wonder.

"Master," continued the old man, "you must hear me this once, if I'm to
be turned away this blessed night for what I'm a-going to say. I've
been hearing Master Amos called by Master Walter mean about his money,
and I can't stand it, for I knows better."

Here Amos sprang forward, and coming in front of Harry, strove by
gesture and whispered remonstrance to stop him; but the other shook his
head, and motioned his young master back.

"It's of no manner of use, Master Amos," he cried; "I must and will
speak--the time's come for it. _I_ know why Master Amos can't afford to
subscribe: 'tain't because he hasn't got the will; 'tain't because he's
been spending it on himself, or sending it to the niggers, though he
might be doing worse with it than that. His money goes to keep dear
Miss Julia as was--bless her little heart!--from want; and it goes, too,
to keep a home for her little ones, and one on 'em's a girl, and she's
as like what her blessed mother was at her age as one lamb's like
anot