“Now, Aunt Mabel, are you comfortable?” she inquired, as she drew a low chair up by the old woman’s side, and seated herself in it.

“Ah, honey, if you could only know how good the warm blood feels creeping up to my shaky old heart, you wouldn’t ask me; and this beautiful shawl, Miss May! it ’minds me so of the bright swamp flowers in old Ca’lina, that it takes me clean back thar.  I had good times then, honey; but I can’t say nuffin.  I feel it all here, and I hope your heavenly Father will make it out, and pay you back ten thousand times,” said old Mabel, laying her shrivelled hand on her heart.

“Your Father and God too, Aunt Mabel,” said May, leaning towards her, and lifting her sunshiny face close to hers.

“No, missis; I ain’t good enough.  He don’t think of the likes of me.”

“Oh, Aunt Mabel, you must not say that.  You are his creature, and from him proceeded your life and soul:  for you, as well as me, his divine Son died that we might inherit eternal life. He knows no distinction in the distribution of his divine charity; the humblest slave, and the most powerful king, are alike the objects of his tender solicitude.  And if I, a poor frail child of earth, pity and love you in your low estate, how much more does He, the sweet and merciful Jesus, regard with tender compassion the soul for whose salvation he has shed his precious blood.”

“Do your religion teach the same to every body, honey; or is you only sayin’ so of your own ’cord?” inquired old Mabel, wistfully.

“Our holy religion teaches it to all.  Into her safe and ancient fold she invites all; and when we know that this fold is the kingdom established on earth by Jesus Christ himself, how we ought to fly, and never rest until we are gathered in.  In this divine faith we are taught to ‘love one another,’ without regard to race, color, or nation, and bring forth fruits unto righteousness; which, if we fail to do, we disobey,—­we bring scandal on it, and the love of God is not in us,” said May, earnestly.

“Fruits unto righteousness, which mean good works, I reckon, honey!” said the old creature, musingly.  “Well, I dunno, but it do seem like ‘tinkling cymbals,’ and ‘sounding brass’ to go preaching the gospel to poor sufferin’ folks like me, and telling of ’em to be patient and resigned, and suffer the will of Heaven, and all that, if they don’t give the naked clothes to cover ’em, and the hungry food to nourish ’em, and to the frozen fire to warm ’em.  I tell you what, Miss May, such religion aint no ’count it ’pears to me, and jest minds me of a apple-tree used to grow in ole mass’r’s garden; it would get its leaf and blossom; like the rest on ’em, but never a sign of apple did it bear; so one day ole missis tells him he better cut it down for firewood—­and so it was, and split up, and sent to my cabin; and I tell you what, honey, I was glad, ’cause somehow it seemed to ’cumber the airth.”