“Can’t I eat mine first, Mrs. Bird?” he asked, in reply.

“I thought you had had yours, long ago,” rejoined she.

“The others hadn’t finished theirs when you called me, and I don’t get mine until they have done,” said Charlie.

“Until they have done; how happens that?” asked Mrs. Bird.

“I think they don’t like to eat with me, because I’m coloured,” was Charlie’s hesitating reply.

“That is too much,” exclaimed Mrs. Bird; “if it were not so very ridiculous, I should be angry.  It remains for me, then,” continued she, “to set them an example.  I’ve not eaten my breakfast yet—­come, sit down with me, and we’ll have it together.”

Charlie followed Mrs. Bird into the breakfast-room, and took the seat pointed out by her.  Eliza, when she entered with the tea-urn, opened her eyes wide with astonishment at the singular spectacle she beheld.  Her mistress sitting down to breakfast vis-a-vis to a little coloured boy!  Depositing the urn upon the table, she hastened back to the kitchen to report upon the startling events that were occurring in the breakfast-room.

“Well, I never,” said she; “that beats anything I ever did see; why, Mrs. Bird must have turned abolitionist.  Charlie is actually sitting at the same table with her, eating his breakfast as natural and unconcerned as if he was as white as snow!  Wonders never will cease.  You see I’m right though.  I said that child wasn’t brought here for a servant—­we’ve done it for ourselves now—­only think how mad she’ll be when she finds he was made to wait for his meals until we have done.  I’m glad I wasn’t the one who refused to eat with him.”

“I guess she has been giving Alfred a blowing up,” said Betsy, “for setting him at boot cleaning; for he looked like a thunder-cloud when he came down stairs, and was muttering something about a consarned pet-nigger—­he looked anything but pleased.”

Whilst the lower powers were discussing what they were pleased to regard as an evidence of some mental derangement on the part of Mrs. Bird, that lady was questioning Charlie respecting his studies, and inquired if he would like to go to school in Warmouth.

“After a while, I think I should,” he replied; “but for a week I’d like to be free to run about the fields and go fishing, and do lots of things.  This is such a pretty place; and now that you have come I shall have nice times—­I know I shall.”

“You seem to have great confidence in my ability to make you happy.  How do you know that I am as kind as you seem to suppose?” asked Mrs. Bird, with a smile.

“I know you are,” answered Charlie, confidently; “you speak so pleasantly to me.  And do you know, Mrs. Bird,” continued he, “that I liked you from the first day, when you praised me so kindly when I recited my lessons before you.  Did you ever have any little boys of your own?”

A change immediately came over the countenance of Mrs. Bird, as she replied:  “Oh, yes, Charlie; a sweet, good boy about your own age:”  and the tears stood in her eyes as she continued.  “He accompanied his father to England years ago—­the ship in which they sailed was never heard of—­his name was Charlie too.”