Then she would
come with food, the soft-boiled rice, or the sweet corn gruel,
she knew so well how to prepare; and often, often she would steal in,
as now, out of pure fondness, to watch its peaceful slumbers.
"Named the pickaninny yet?" asked the master one day, as he passed
the cabin, and carelessly looked in upon the mother and child
amusing themselves within. "'Tis time you did; 'most time to turn
her off now, you see."
"Oh, Massa, don't say dat word," answered the woman, imploringly.
"'Pears I couldn't b'ar to turn her off yet,--couldn't live
without her, no ways. Reckon I'll call her Tidy; dat ar's my
sister's name, and she's got dat same sweet look 'bout de eyes,--
don't you think so, Massa? Poor Tidy! she's"--and Annie stopped,
and a deep sigh, instead of words, filled up the sentence, and tears
dropped down upon the baby's forehead. Memory traveled back to that
dreadful night when this only sister had been dragged from her bed,
chained with a slave-gang, and driven off to the dreaded South,
never more to be heard from.
WE talk of the "sunny South;"--to the slave, the South is cold, dark,
and cheerless; the land of untold horrors, the grave of hope and joy.
"'Pears as if my poor old mudder," said Annie, brushing away
the tears, "never got up right smart after Tidy went away.
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