ouldn’t I give them to him？”
“And why haven’t you brought him up better？” said Miss Ophelia； with blunt determination。
“Too much trouble；—laziness； cousin； laziness；—which ruins more souls than you can shake a stick at。 If it weren’t for laziness； I should have been a perfect angel； myself。 I’m inclined to think that laziness is what your old Dr。 Botherem； up in Vermont； used to call the ‘essence of moral evil。’ It’s an awful consideration； certainly。”
“I think you slaveholders have an awful responsibility upon you；” said Miss Ophelia。 “I wouldn’t have it； for a thousand worlds。 You ought to educate your slaves； and treat them like reasonable creatures；—like immortal creatures； that you’ve got to stand before the bar of God with。 That’s my mind；” said the good lady； breaking suddenly out with a tide of zeal that had been gaining strength in her mind all the morning。
“O！ come； come；” said St。 Clare； getting up quickly； “what do you know about us？” And he sat down to the piano； and rattled a lively piece of music。 St。 Clare had a decided genius for music。 His touch was brilliant and firm； and his fingers flew over the keys with a rapid and bird…like motion； airy； and yet decided。 He played piece after piece； like a man who is trying to play himself into a good humor。 After pushing the music aside； he rose up； and said； gayly； “Well； now； cousin； you’ve given us a good talk and done your duty； on the whole； I think the better of you for it。 I make no manner of doubt that you threw a very diamond of truth at me； though you see it hit me so directly in the face that it wasn’t exactly appreciated； at first。”
“For my part； I don’t see any use in such sort of talk；” said Marie。 “I’m sure； if anybody does more for servants than we do； I’d like to know who； and it don’t do ’em a bit good；—not a particle；—they get worse and worse。 As to talking to them； or anything like that； I’m sure I have talked till I was tired and hoarse； telling them their duty； and all that； and I’m sure they can go to church when they like； though they don’t understand a word of the sermon； more than so many pigs；—so it isn’t of any great use for them to go； as I see； but they do go； and so they have every chance； but； as I said before； they are a degraded race； and always will be； and there isn’t any help for them； you can’t make anything of them； if you try。 You see； Cousin Ophelia； I’ve tried； and you haven’t； I was born and bred among them； and I know。”
Miss Ophelia thought she had said enough； and therefore sat silent。 St。 Clare whistled a tune。
“St。 Clare； I wish you wouldn’t whistle；” said Marie； “it makes my head worse。”
“I won’t；” said St。 Clare。 “Is there anything else you wouldn’t wish me to do？”
“I wish you would have some kind of sympathy for my trials； you never have any feeling for me。”
“My dear acomusing angel！” said St。 Clare。
“It’s provoking to be talked to in that way。”
“Then； how will you be talked to？ I’ll talk to order；—any way you’ll mention；—only to give satisfaction。”
A gay laugh from the court rang through the silken curtains of the verandah。 St。 Clare stepped out； and lifting up the curtain； laughed too。
“What is it？” said Miss Ophelia； coming to the railing。
There sat Tom； on a little mossy seat in the court； every one of his button…holes stuck full of cape jessamines； and Eva； gayly laughing； was hanging a wreath of roses round his neck； and then she sat down on his knee； like a chip…sparrow； still laughing。
“O； Tom； you look so funny！”
Tom had a sober； benevolent smile； and seemed； in his quiet way； to be enjoying the fun quite as much as his little mistress。 He lifted his eyes； when he saw his master； with a half…deprecating； apologetic air。
“How can you let her？” said Miss Ophelia。
“Why not？” said St。 Clare。
“Why； I don’t know； it seems so dreadful！”
“You would think no harm in a child’s caressing a large dog； even if he was black； but a creature that can think； and reason； and feel； and is immortal； you shudder at； confess it； cousin。 I know the feeling among some of you northerners well enough。 Not that there is a particle of virtue in our not having it； but custom with us does what Christianity ought to do；—obliterates the feeling of personal prejudice。 I have often noticed； in my travels north； how much stronger this was with you than with us。 You loathe them as you would a snake or a toad； yet you are indignant at their wrongs。 You would not have them abused； but you don’t want to have anything to do with them yourselves。 You would send them to Africa； out of your sight and smell； and then send a missionary or two to do up all the self…denial of elevating them compendiously。 Isn’t that it？”
“Well； cousin；” said Miss Ophelia； thoughtfully； “there may be some truth in this。”
“What would the poor and lowly do； without children？” said St。 Clare； leaning on the railing； and watching Eva； as she tripped off； leading Tom with her。 “Your little child is your only true democrat。 Tom； now is a hero to Eva； his stories are wonders in her eyes； his songs and Methodist hymns are better than an opera； and the traps and little bits of trash in his pocket a mine of jewels； and he the most wonderful Tom that ever wore a black skin。 This is one of the roses of Eden that the Lord has dropped down expressly for the poor and lowly； who get few enough of any other kind。”
“It’s strange； cousin；” said Miss Ophelia； “one might almost think you were a professor； to hear you talk。”
“A professor？” said St。 Clare。
“Yes； a professor of religion。”
“Not at all； not a professor； as your town…folks have it； and； what is worse； I’m afraid； not a practiser； either。”
“What makes you talk so； then？”
“Nothing is easier than talking；” said St。 Clare。 “I believe Shakespeare makes somebody say； ‘I could sooner show twenty what were good to be done； than be one of the twenty to follow my own showing。’1 Nothing like division of labor。 My forte lies in talking； and yours； cousin； lies in doing。”
In Tom’s external situation； at this time； there was； as the world says； nothing to complain of Little Eva’s fancy for him—the instinctive gratitude and loveliness of a noble nature—had led her to petition her father that he might be her especial attendant； whenever she needed the escort of a servant； in her walks or rides； and Tom had general orders to let everything else go； and attend to Miss Eva whenever she wanted him；—orders which our readers may fancy were far from disagreeable to him。 He was kept well dressed； for St。 Clare was fastidiously particular on this point。 His stable services were merely a sinecure； and consisted simply in a daily care and inspection； and directing an under…servant in his duties； for Marie St。 Clare declared that she could not have any smell of the horses about him when he came near her； and that he must positively not be put to any service that would make him unpleasant to her； as her nervous system was entirely inadequate to any trial of that nature； one snuff of anything disagreeable being； acomording to her acomount； quite sufficient to close the scene； and put an end to all her earthly trials