If you had seen the tears, and heard the sobs, you would have thought the messenger had brought tidings of death instead of freedom.  Poor old grandmother felt that she should never see her darling boy again.  And I was selfish.  I thought more of what I had lost, than of what my brother had gained.  A new anxiety began to trouble me.  Mr. Sands had expended a good deal of money, and would naturally feel irritated by the loss he had incurred.  I greatly feared this might injure the prospects of my children, who were now becoming valuable property.  I longed to have their emancipation made certain.  The more so, because their master and father was now married.  I was too familiar with slavery not to know that promises made to slaves, though with kind intentions, and sincere at the time, depend upon many contingencies for their fulfillment.

Much as I wished William to be free, the step he had taken made me sad and anxious.  The following Sabbath was calm and clear; so beautiful that it seemed like a Sabbath in the eternal world.  My grandmother brought the children out on the piazza, that I might hear their voices.  She thought it would comfort me in my despondency; and it did.  They chatted merrily, as only children can.  Benny said, “Grandmother, do you think uncle Will has gone for good?  Won’t he ever come back again?  May be he’ll find mother.  If he does, won’t she be glad to see him!  Why don’t you and uncle Phillip, and all of us, go and live where mother is?  I should like it; wouldn’t you, Ellen?”

“Yes, I should like it,” replied Ellen; “but how could we find her?  Do you know the place, grandmother?  I don’t remember how mother looked—­do you, Benny?”

Benny was just beginning to describe me when they were interrupted by an old slave woman, a near neighbor, named Aggie.  This poor creature had witnessed the sale of her children, and seen them carried off to parts unknown, without any hopes of ever hearing from them again.  She saw that my grandmother had been weeping, and she said, in a sympathizing tone, “What’s the matter, aunt Marthy?”

“O Aggie,” she replied, “it seems as if I shouldn’t have any of my children or grandchildren left to hand me a drink when I’m dying, and lay my old body in the ground.  My boy didn’t come back with Mr. Sands.  He staid at the north.”

Poor old Aggie clapped her hands for joy.  “Is dat what you’s crying fur?” she exclaimed.  “Git down on your knees and bress de Lord!  I don’t know whar my poor chillern is, and I nebber ’spect to know.  You don’t know whar poor Linda’s gone to; but you do know whar her brudder is.  He’s in free parts; and dat’s de right place.  Don’t murmur at de Lord’s doings but git down on your knees and tank him for his goodness.”

My selfishness was rebuked by what poor Aggie said.  She rejoiced over the escape of one who was merely her fellow-bondman, while his own sister was only thinking what his good fortune might cost her children.  I knelt and prayed God to forgive me; and I thanked him from my heart, that one of my family was saved from the grasp of slavery.