“Laws, honey, it would be fustrate, but your Pa wouldn’t hear to it.”

“Yes, he would, Mammy, because I’ll tell him I’ve set my heart upon it, and won’t be satisfied if he don’t consent.  I know if I set my heart upon it, he won’t refuse me, because he always said he hates to see me fret.  Why, Mammy, he bought me two thousand dollars worth of jewelry when we were in New York, just because I took a fancy to a diamond set which I saw at Tiffany’s.  Anyhow, I am going to ask him.”  Eager and anxious to carry out her plan, Camilla left the cabin to find her father.  He was seated in his library, reading Homer.  He looked up, as her light step fell upon the threshold, and said playfully, “What is your wish, my princess?  Tell me, if it is the half of my kingdom.”

Encouraged by his manner, she drew near, perched upon his knee, and said; “Now, you must keep your word, Pa.  I have a request to make, but you must first promise me that you will grant it.”

“But I don’t know what it is.  I can’t tell.  You might want me to put my head in the fire.”

“Oh no, Pa, you know I don’t!”

“Well, you might wish me to run for Congress.”

“Oh no, Pa, I know that you hate politics.”

“Well, darling, what is your request?”

“No; tell me first that you will grant it.  Now, don’t tease me, Pa; say yes, and I will tell you.”

“Well, yes; if it is anything in reason.”

“Well, it is in reason, let me tell you, Pa.  To-day, after I came home, I asked Annette where was Agnes, and she told me she was dead.  Oh I was so sorry; and so before I got my dinner I hastened to Mammy’s cabin, and found poor Mammy almost heart-broken, and Agnes lying dead, but looking just as natural as life.”

“She was dead, but had left one of the dearest little babies I ever saw.  Why, Pa, he is just as white as we are; and I told Mammy so, but she said it didn’t matter; ‘he is a poor slave, just like the rest of us.’  Now, Pa, I don’t want Agnes’ baby to be a slave.  Can’t you keep him from growing up a slave?”

“How am I to do that, my little Abolitionist?”

“No, Pa, I am not an Abolitionist.  I heard some of them talk when I was in New York, and I think they are horrid creatures; but, Pa, this child is so white, nobody would ever know that he had one drop of Negro blood in his veins.  Couldn’t we take him out of that cabin, and make all the servants promise that they would never breathe a word about his being colored, and let me bring him up as a white child?”

“Well,” said Mr. Le Croix, bursting into a hearty laugh, “that is a capital joke; my little dewdrop talk of bringing up a child!  Why, darling, you would tire of him in a week.”

“Oh no, Pa, I wouldn’t!  Just try me; if it is only for a week.”

“Why, Sunbeam, it is impossible.  Who ever heard of such a thing as a Negro being palmed upon society as a white person?”