“Is you hearn f’m Sam lately?” uncle Wellington inquired, after the conversation had drifted through the usual generalities.

“His mammy got er letter f’m ‘im las’ week; he ‘s livin’ in de town er Groveland now.”

“How ‘s he gittin’ on?”

“He says he gittin’ on monst’us well.  He ’low ez how he make five dollars a day w’ite-washin’, an’ have all he kin do.”

The shoemaker related various details of his brother’s prosperity, and uncle Wellington returned home in a very thoughtful mood, revolving in his mind a plan of future action.  This plan had been vaguely assuming form ever since the professor’s lecture, and the events of the morning had brought out the detail in bold relief.

Two days after the conversation with the shoemaker, aunt Milly went, in the afternoon, to visit a sister of hers who lived several miles out in the country.  During her absence, which lasted until nightfall, uncle Wellington went uptown and purchased a cheap oilcloth valise from a shrewd son of Israel, who had penetrated to this locality with a stock of notions and cheap clothing.  Uncle Wellington had his purchase done up in brown paper, and took the parcel under his arm.  Arrived at home he unwrapped the valise, and thrust into its capacious jaws his best suit of clothes, some underwear, and a few other small articles for personal use and adornment.  Then he carried the valise out into the yard, and, first looking cautiously around to see if there was any one in sight, concealed it in a clump of bushes in a corner of the yard.

It may be inferred from this proceeding that uncle Wellington was preparing for a step of some consequence.  In fact, he had fully made up his mind to go to the North; but he still lacked the most important requisite for traveling with comfort, namely, the money to pay his expenses.  The idea of tramping the distance which separated him from the promised land of liberty and equality had never occurred to him.  When a slave, he had several times been importuned by fellow servants to join them in the attempt to escape from bondage, but he had never wanted his freedom badly enough to walk a thousand miles for it; if he could have gone to Canada by stage-coach, or by rail, or on horseback, with stops for regular meals, he would probably have undertaken the trip.  The funds he now needed for his journey were in aunt Milly’s chest.  He had thought a great deal about his right to this money.  It was his wife’s savings, and he had never dared to dispute, openly, her right to exercise exclusive control over what she earned; but the lawyer had assured him of his right to the money, of which he was already constructively in possession, and he had therefore determined to possess himself actually of the coveted stocking.  It was impracticable for him to get the key of the chest.  Aunt Milly kept it in her pocket by day and under her pillow at night.  She was a light sleeper, and, if not awakened by the abstraction of the key, would certainly have been disturbed by the unlocking of the chest.  But one alternative remained, and that was to break open the chest in her absence.