for her.  I had rather she would come back of her own accord, in a respectable manner.  Her uncle Phillip is the best person to go for her.  With him, she would feel perfectly free to act.  I am willing to pay his expenses going and returning.  She shall be sold to her friends.  Her children are free; at least I suppose they are; and when you obtain her freedom, you’ll make a happy family.  I suppose, Martha, you have no objection to my reading to you the letter Linda has written to you.”

He broke the seal, and I heard him read it.  The old villain!  He had suppressed the letter I wrote to grandmother, and prepared a substitute of his own, the purport of which was as follows:—­

Dear Grandmother:  I have long wanted to write to you; but the disgraceful manner in which I left you and my children made me ashamed to do it.  If you knew how much I have suffered since I ran away, you would pity and forgive me.  I have purchased freedom at a dear rate.  If any arrangement could be made for me to return to the south without being a slave, I would gladly come.  If not, I beg of you to send my children to the north.  I cannot live any longer without them.  Let me know in time, and I will meet them in New York or Philadelphia, whichever place best suits my uncle’s convenience.  Write as soon as possible to your unhappy daughter,

   Linda.

“It is very much as I expected it would be,” said the old hypocrite, rising to go.  “You see the foolish girl has repented of her rashness, and wants to return.  We must help her to do it, Martha.  Talk with Phillip about it.  If he will go for her, she will trust to him, and come back.  I should like an answer to-morrow.  Good morning, Martha.”

As he stepped out on the piazza, he stumbled over my little girl.  “Ah, Ellen, is that you?” he said, in his most gracious manner.  “I didn’t see you.  How do you do?”

“Pretty well, sir,” she replied.  “I heard you tell grandmother that my mother is coming home.  I want to see her.”

“Yes, Ellen, I am going to bring her home very soon,” rejoined he; “and you shall see her as much as you like, you little curly-headed nigger.”

This was as good as a comedy to me, who had heard it all; but grandmother was frightened and distressed, because the doctor wanted my uncle to go for me.

The next evening Dr. Flint called to talk the matter over.  My uncle told him that from what he had heard of Massachusetts, he judged he should be mobbed if he went there after a runaway slave.  “All stuff and nonsense, Phillip!” replied the doctor.  “Do you suppose I want you to kick up a row in Boston?  The business can all be done quietly.  Linda writes that she wants to come back.  You are her relative, and she would trust you.  The case would be different if I went.  She might object to coming with me; and the damned abolitionists, if they knew I was her master, would not believe me, if I told them she had begged to go back.  They would get up a row; and I should not like to see Linda dragged through the streets like a common negro.  She has been very ungrateful to me for all my kindness; but I forgive her, and want to act the part of a friend towards her.  I have no wish to hold her as my slave.  Her friends can buy her as soon as she arrives here.”