THE LITTLE EXILES.
Frontispiece

THE
BABES IN THE BASKET;
OR,
Daph and her Charge.

BY THE AUTHOR OF
“TIMID LUCY,” “HEART AND HAND,” ETC.

NEW YORK:
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH,
683 BROADWAY.
1859.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for
the Southern District of New York.

EDWARD O. JENKINS,
Printer & Stereotyper,
No. 26 Frankfort Street.

CONTENTS.

THE
Babes in the Basket;
OR,
DAPH AND HER CHARGE.

I.
The Moonlight Visitor.

The evening air stole gently into a quiet room in a southern island, more than sixty years ago.

There were no casements in the wide windows; the heavy shutters were thrown back, and the moonlight poured, in long, unbroken streams, across the polished, un-carpeted floor.

Within the large pleasant room, two children were sleeping in their curtained beds, like birds in pretty cages.

Suddenly there was a cautious tread in the hall, and then a strange figure stood silently in the moonlight. Without candle, or taper, might have been plainly seen the short, strongly-built woman, whose black face and gay turban formed a striking contrast to the fair children in their loose, white night-dresses.

Who was that dark intruder, and what was her secret errand, in that quiet room?

It was Daph, black Daph, and when you have heard more about her, you can better judge whether she came as a friend, or an enemy, to the sleeping children of her master.

The large mirror, bright in the moonlight, seemed to have an irresistible attraction for the negro, and the sight of her black face fully reflected there, made her show her white teeth in a grin of decided approval. The pleased expression, however, disappeared almost instantly, as she said impatiently, “Foolish darky, spendin dese precious time, looking at your own ugly face!”

At this whispered exclamation, the children stirred uneasily. “If I mus, I mus!” said Daph, resolutely, as she drew from her pocket a box, containing two small pills. With the pills in her hand she approached the bedside of the little girl, who was now half sitting up, and looking at Daph, with the bewildered expression of one suddenly aroused from sleep.

Daph put aside the mosquito bar, and said, coaxingly, “Take dis, Miss Lou, quick as you can, and don’t go for waking Mass Charley, asleep da in dat beauty bed of his.”

Daph had slipped the pill into a juicy bit of pineapple, which she seemed to have had ready for the purpose, and the child instantly swallowed it. With one trustful, pleasant glance from her large, blue eyes, the fair-haired little girl sank back on her pillow, and was soon in the sweet sleep of innocence.

As soon as Daph saw the small, slender hands lie open and relaxed, she closed the gauze-like curtains, and stole to the cradle-bed of the little boy. She raised his head gently on her arm, and placed in his mouth a bit of the same juicy fruit she had given his sister, containing another of those hidden pills, which she seemed so anxious to administer. The child did not wake, but the sweet morsel was pleasant to his taste, and no doubt mingled in his baby-dreams of the joys of the pleasant world in which he had passed but little more than a twelve month.

Daph now set to work busily to fill a huge basket, which she brought from some place of deposit near at hand. The drawers of the bureau, and the contents of the elegant dressing-case she thoroughly over-hauled, making such selections as seemed to please her fancy, and being withal somewhat dainty in her choice. Children’s clothing, of the finest and best, formed the lowest layer in the basket; then followed a sprinkling of rings and necklaces, interspersed with the choice furniture of the rich dressing-case. Over all was placed a large light shawl, with its many soft folds, and then Daph viewed the success of her packing with much satisfaction.

Quietly and stealthily she approached the bed, where the little girl was sleeping so soundly that she did not wake, even when Daph lifted her in her strong arms, and laid her gently in the great basket,—the choicest treasure of all. In another moment the plump, rosy boy was lying with his fairy-like sister, in that strange resting-place. Daph looked at them, as they lay side by side, and a tear rolled over her dark cheeks, and, as it fell, sparkled in the moonlight.

The negro had taken up a white cloth, and was in the act of throwing it over the basket, when a small book, with golden clasps, suddenly caught her eye; rolling it quickly in a soft, rich veil, she placed it between the children, and her task was done.

It was but the work of a moment, to fasten on the cloth-covering with a stout string; then, with one strong effort, Daph stooped, took the basket on her head, and went forth from the door with as stately a step as if she wore a crown.

II.
The “Martha Jane.”

There was the bustle of departure, on board a Yankee schooner, which some hope of gain had brought to the southern island, named in our last chapter. The fresh and favorable breeze hurried the preparations of the sailors, as they moved about full of glad thoughts of return to their distant home.

The boat, which had been sent ashore for some needful supplies, was fast approaching the vessel, and in it, among the rough tars, was Daph, her precious basket at her side, and her bright eyes passing from face to face, with an eager, wistful glance, that seemed trying to read the secrets of each heart.

“Here! go-a-head, woman! I’ll hand up your chickens;” said one of the sailors, as they reached the anchored schooner.

“I keeps my chickens to myself,” said Daph, as she placed the basket on her head, and went up the side of the vessel, as steadily and securely as the oldest tar of all.

As soon as she set her foot on deck, the sailors thronged around her, offering to take her chickens from her, at her own price, and passing their rough jokes on her stout figure and shining black face. One young sailor, bolder than the rest, laid his hand on the basket, and had well-nigh torn away its cover. The joke might have proved a dangerous one for him. A blow from Daph’s strong arm sent him staggering backwards, and in another moment, the negress had seized an oar, and was brandishing it round her head, threatening with destruction any one who should dare to touch her property, and declaring that with the captain, and with him alone, would she treat for the chickens, about which so much had been said.

“Cap’in,” said she, as a tall, firmly-knit man drew near the scene of the disturbance; “Cap’in, it’s you, sah, I wants to speak wid, and just you by yourself, away from these fellows, who don’t know how to treat a ’spectable darkie, who belongs to the greatest gentleman in the island. Let me see you in your little cubby there, and if you have an heart in you, we’ll make a bargain.”

There was something so earnest in the woman’s manner, that Captain Jones at once consented to her odd request, smiling at himself as he did so.

A kind of temporary cabin had been put up on deck, for the protection of the captain from the hot rays of the southern sun. It was but a rude frame-work, covered with sail-cloth, and yet, when the canvas door was closed, it formed a pleasant and cool place of retirement for an afternoon nap, or for the transaction of private business.

To that spot Daph followed the captain, her basket on her head, and her firm step and consequential air seeming to say to the sailors,—“You see, your captain knows better than you do how to treat such a person as I am.”

When they were once within the little enclosure, Daph’s manner changed. She put down her precious basket, and looking the captain directly in the eye, she said, solemnly, “Cap’in, would you see a man struggle for his life in de deep water, outside da, and nebber lift your hand to save him? Would you see a house on fire, and sweet baby-children burning in it, and just look on to see de awsome blaze, and nebber stir to save de dear babies? Cap’in, I’se brought you a good work to do. Dey say de great Lord blesses dem dat cares for little children, and gives dem a good seat in heaven. Swear by de great Lord you wont tell de dreadsome secret I’se going to tell you! Swear! time is short!”

The kind-hearted captain was impressed by the earnest manner of the woman, and not a little curious to hear the secret that seemed to fill her with such strong feeling; “I swear,” said he, simply, “go on!”

“De darkies in dis island,” said Daph, slowly, “de darkies are crazy for de blood of der masters. Poor, wicked fools! Dey means to have enough of it to-night! By to-morrow morning, de white faces on dis coast will ebery one be white wid de death-whiteness! Old folks and little children—dey mean to kill dem all! Dey told Daph deir secret, as if dey thought she was all black, inside and out. De Lord forgib Daph, dat she did not strike dem down, where dey stood shewing deir teeth, at the thought of living in master’s house, and he cold in de grave! Dear massa and missus are up in de country, and Daph could n’t get word to dem, but something in here said, ‘You can save the sweet babies, Daph;’ so I made as if I was ready to kill dose I loves de best, and set to work a-contriving how a poor, foolish darky could save dose sweet lambs. Your men was always glad to take Daph’s chickens, and so de way seemed open. I’se put my darlings in de basket, and here dey are for you to take care ob for de Lord, and he’ll reckon wid you for it. It aint likely dey’ll have any friends to stand by em, and thank ye for it, ’cept one poor darky, named Daph!”

In a twinkling, Daph had torn off the cover of the basket, and there lay the sleeping children; calm and still as if on their mother’s bosom.

“Dey do breave, de sweet dears!” said Daph, as she bent tenderly over them.

Great tears fell from the eyes of honest Captain Jones. He was an old sailor, but to salt water in this form he had long been a stranger. He tried to speak, but the voice that had been heard above the tumult of many a storm, was now choked and husky. In an instant he regained his self-command, and said, “You have found the right man, Daph! No harm shall come to them so long as my name is Jeremiah Jones! The Martha Jane can skim the water like a wild duck, and will be off towards a better country before ten minutes are over!”

The words were hardly out of Captain Jones’s mouth, before he left his tent-like cabin, and in a moment he was heard giving orders for instant departure.

The energy that had borne Daph through her hour of trial, seemed to desert her, now that her object was attained, and she sank down beside the little ones, sobbing like a child. She felt herself a poor, helpless, ignorant creature, going she knew not whither, and having assumed a charge she knew not how to fulfil.

“De great Lord, dat missus loves, can take care of us!” thought the humble negro; “He can give poor Daph sense to mind de babies!”

In her ignorance, she knew not how to pray, but she leaned in simple faith upon the only source of strength, and found consolation.

In a half-hour after the arrival of Daph on board the Martha Jane, the trim little vessel was speeding on her homeward course.

Captain Jones walked the deck in deep meditation, while from their various positions his crew watched him with curious glances. The sailors well knew that Daph was still on board, but no one had dared to question the captain’s orders for putting instantly out to sea.

Jeremiah Jones was a thorough republican, when at home in good old Massachusetts; but once on board the Martha Jane, he ruled with the despotic power of the Emperor of all the Russias. His crew were accustomed to submission, and murmuring was never heard among them. They had indeed no cause for discontent, for Captain Jones was just, kind-hearted, and high-principled, and he wisely ruled his little realm.

The good captain had acted upon a sudden impulse, for promptness was required, but now came a time for sober reflection.

“If the darky has not told the truth;” so reasoned he; “what has Jeremiah Jones been doing? He has kidnapped a valuable servant and carried off two children, belonging to a man who has the power and wealth to make said Jeremiah suffer for his madness. The thing has been done publicly, and these fellows of mine may think it for their interest to deliver me up, as soon as I set foot in old Boston!”

These meditations did not seem to increase the peace of mind of the worthy New Englander. He walked the deck impatiently for a few minutes, and then drew near the objects of his anxious thought.

He put aside the canvas curtain, and stood for a moment in the clear moonlight, watching the sleepers. Daph had thrown her arm protectingly round the basket, and curled about it, as if conscious of her charge, even in the deep slumber into which she had fallen. That long, earnest look set the perturbed mind of the captain at rest, and again the unwonted tears filled his large, gray eyes.

A state of indecision could not last long in such a mind as that of Captain Jones, and his usually prompt, authoritative manner suddenly returned to him. He seized a trumpet, and gave a shout of “all hands on deck,” which soon brought his eager crew about him.

In a few words he told Daph’s fearful story, and then throwing aside the awning, he exposed to view the sleeping forms of the negro and the little ones, as he said:

“I have pledged myself to be a friend to those whom God has sent me to take care of, my men, but if there is one among you who doubts that faithful creature’s story, or who is afraid to lend a hand to save those sweet throats from the murdering knives of those black rascals on shore, let him stand out here, and speak for himself. Let him take a boat, and put out for the island, while it is yet in sight. We don’t want him here. He shall have his wages, and bounty too, for the master he serves is likely to give him little comfort in the long run. Speak out, men, will you stand by me, or will you go ashore?”

Every voice joined in the hearty cheer with which the captain’s words were received. Rough hands were stretched out towards him, and he responded to their warm grasp with a hearty shake, as one by one the men came up to give him this token of their determination to help him, in the good deed he had begun.

The cheer that was so welcome to the ear of Captain Jones had quite a different effect upon poor Daph. She sprang to her feet in wild alarm, and placing herself in front of her darlings, stood ready to do battle in their behalf.

The men drew back, and Captain Jones hastened to explain to Daph the hearty expression of good-will towards her, which had risen spontaneously from the crew of the Martha Jane.

Daph’s apprehensions were soon quieted, and, at the suggestion of the captain, she prepared to remove her darlings from their strange resting-place to one of the small state-rooms below.

The children did not wake while she laid them gently in the berth, and stretched herself beside them on the floor. Daph began to be troubled at the soundness of their long-continued sleep. She raised herself, and crouching near them, she watched them with ever-increasing uneasiness.

Captain Jones was on deck, giving a last look to see that all was right, before retiring for the night, when Daph came hastily up to him, and laying her hand beseechingly on his arm, she said:

“O! Cap’in! I’se a-feard I’se just killed my pretty ones! dey do sleep so. Dem was such little pills, dey didn’t seem as if dey could be so mighty powersome!”

“Pills!” said the captain, with a start; “what have you given them?”

“I jus don’t know myself,” said Daph, desperately. “Daph had de ear-ache mighty bad last week, and missus, dear creeter—she was always so kind—she gibs me two little pills, and she says, ‘here Daph, you take dese when you goes to bed, and you will sleep so sound, de pain will all go way!’ I says, ‘tank’ee missus,’ of course, and she goes up to de house quite satisfied. Daph nebber did take no doctor’s stuff, so I puts de little pills in my pocket, and just roasts an orange soft, and ties it warm outside my ear, and goes to bed, and sleeps like a lizard. Now when I thinks of putting de children in de basket, something says to me, ‘you gib dem dose little pills, Daph, dey’ll make ’em sleep sound ’nough.’ So, I’se just did like a poor, foolish darky.” Here Daph began to cry piteously.

Captain Jones went immediately to the cabin. The natural color and healthy breathing of the little sleepers soon assured him that all was right.

“Courage! old girl!” said the captain, cheerily, “turn in yourself, and I’ll warrant you the youngsters will be none the worse for your doctoring!”

Thus consoled, Daph lay down again beside her charge, and the silence of deep sleep soon prevailed, not only in the little state-room, but throughout the Martha Jane, save when the measured steps of the watch sounded out through the stillness of the night.

III.
The Water-Lily.

At sunrise the morning after she set sail, the “Martha Jane” was dancing over the waves, far out of sight of mainland or island.

Daph was an early riser, and in the gray dawn she bestirred herself with her usual waking thought—“This is a busy world, and Daph must be up and at work.” Her first glance around showed her that she was not in the southern kitchen, which had so long been her domain, and a merry sound near her reminded her of the new duties she had undertaken.

Charlie was sitting up in the berth, his bright black eyes sparkling with delight at the new scene in which he found himself.

“Pretty! pretty little bed!” were the first words that met Daph’s ear. The hearty hug with which she responded to this pleasant greeting, and the consequent laugh of the child, roused his fair sister.

Louise started up, and looked wildly around her; “Where are we, Daffy,” she asked, anxiously. “We’s just on board a beauty ship, a-going to see pretty countries over the water,” said Daph, coaxingly.

“But why do we go?” urged the child, by no means satisfied.

“Cause, cause,” said Daph, “cause de great Lord tinks it best.”

The face of little Louise instantly took a sobered and submissive expression, and she said quietly, “Well, Daffy, Lou will try to be a good girl; where’s Dinah?”

“I’se to be nurse now, Miss Lou,” answered Daph, promptly.

“Oh! how nice! No cross Dinah any more!” exclaimed the little girl, clapping her hands with very great delight.

Charlie thought proper to clap his hands, too, and to cry out, boisterously, “Caky! caky!”—a cry which Daph well understood, and for which she was amply prepared.

She drew from one of her huge pockets some cakes for the children, and then they all three began to chat as pleasantly as if they were at their favorite resort, under the old tree that grew in front of Daph’s southern kitchen.

Daph found it a difficult business to dress her young master and mistress, but Louise was a helpful little creature, and was of great assistance in enabling the new nurse to select the suitable garments, from the store that had been hastily thrust into the great basket.

It was an easy matter to comb Louise’s soft, straight golden hair off her fair forehead, but it was another thing to deal with master Charlie’s mop of short, chestnut curls. The new bond between Daph and the sturdy boy had well nigh been broken, by the smart pulls she gave, in the course of her unskilful efforts.

When Captain Jones came into the cabin after his usual round on deck, in the morning, he was greeted by the sound of merry young voices, which struck strangely on his ear.

Daph gave one peep from the state-room, to be sure who was near at hand, and then leading out the children, she bade them “go right to the very kindest gentleman that anybody ever had for a friend.”

Charlie put out his arms towards the honest captain, who took the little fellow warmly to his heart.

Louise held on to Daph’s apron with one hand, and the other she put out timidly towards her new friend.

That small, soft, gentle hand was placed in the hard, dark palm of the captain, quietly as a flower might fall on a wayside path. Captain Jones bent tenderly down to the fair, slender child, and kissed her smooth forehead. She loosened her hold of Daph, and nestled at his side. Again those stranger-tears filled the captain’s eyes, but he did not look the worse for them, or for the kindly smile that beamed from his frank, sun-burnt face.

An odd looking party sat round the breakfast-table, in the cabin, that morning. Captain Jones was at the head, with Charlie on his knee; opposite him was perched the little Louise, while the weather-browned faces of the mates appeared at the sides.

Daph had claimed the privilege of milking “Passenger,” the cow—which Captain Jones had taken with him on many voyages, and on which he had lavished much of the surplus affection of his bachelor-heart.

“Passenger,” would have found out that she had powerful rivals, if she could have seen Charlie, enjoying his cup of fresh milk on the captain’s knee, and Louise looking at him with mild trustful glances, that went right to his heart.

Daph saw all this, if “Passenger” did not, and with her white teeth in full sight she moved round the table, in the position of waiter, which she had assumed to keep her darlings in view, and to have a care that their new friends, in their abundant kindness, did not feed them too freely with sailor’s fare.

That was a happy day to the children—that first day on board the “Martha Jane,”—and the captain prophesied that Charlie would “stand the sea like an old salt,” and Louise would be as much at home on it as the “Martha Jane” herself.

There had been a fresh breeze all day, but towards evening the wind grew stronger, and Daph would have found it hard to carry even a trifle on that head of hers, which had so steadily borne many a heavy burden. She began also to experience certain strange internal sensations, for which she could not account; but the faithful creature bore up without a complaint, though she staggered to and fro in a way which made the rough sailors laugh merrily at her expense.

Poor Daph! Such sufferings as hers could not long be kept secret. Through the live-long night she lay in the anguish of sea-sickness, which can only be appreciated by those who have experienced its miseries. In her ignorance, she supposed herself to have been seized by some fearful malady, which must soon take her life.

“Daph would be glad to die, she so awsome sick,” she said to herself, “but den, who will mind de babies? No, no! Daph wont die yet. De great Lord wont let her; Daph knows he wont!”

For two days the poor negro wrestled mightily against the horrors of sea-sickness, bearing up with the motive, “Daph must live for de babies!”

Meanwhile, Captain Jones had all the charge of his new pets. “Passenger” was quite forgotten, as the stout sailor walked the deck, with Charlie peeping out from under his rough overcoat, and Louise walking at his side, wrapped in the long soft shawl that Daph had stowed away in that wonderful basket.

They had strange talks together—that strong man and those prattling children—and they learned much from each other. He told of the wonders of the sea—the great whales and the floating ice-bergs—and the petrel, that the sailor never kills. Many long years, Captain Jones had made the sea his home, and much he knew, which books had never taught him, yet in little more than three short years, Louise had caught a priceless secret, which he had never found in any land. He was familiar with the wonders of nature, but to her the Great Creator, to whom he was a stranger, was as a familiar, trusted friend. The marvels which Captain Jones could tell of the ocean, but increased her wonder at His power, who “made the heavens, the earth, the sea, and all that in them is,” and in her simple way she would “praise the Lord for all his wonderful works.” Charlie little knew of the strong feelings which agitated the breast to which he was clasped, while his little sister lisped of the lessons learned at her mother’s knee.

Those days of Daph’s sickness were precious days to Captain Jones, and he was almost sorry when the stout negro triumphed over her enemy, and came on deck to resume her charge.

The air grew chill as the “Martha Jane” sped on her northward course, and the white dresses of the children fluttered, most unseasonably, in the cool breeze. The ship’s stores were ransacked for some material, of which to make them more suitable, though extempore clothing. A roll of red flannel was all that promised to answer the purpose. The captain took the place of master-workman, and cut out what he called “a handsome suit for a pair of sea-birds;” and Daph, with her clumsy fingers, made the odd garments. She felt ready to cry as she put them on, to see her pets so disfigured; but Captain Jones laughed at her dolorous face, and said the red frock only made his “lily” look the fairer, and turned Charlie into the sailor he should be.

The “Martha Jane” was nearing the familiar waters of her own northern home, when the Captain called Daph into the cabin, one evening, to consult with her on matters of importance.

With the happy disposition of the negro, Daph seemed to have forgotten that she was not always to live on board the “Martha Jane,” and under the kind protection of her sailor-friend; she was, therefore, not a little startled, when he addressed to her the blunt question:

“Where are you going, Daph?”

Now, Daph had a most indistinct idea of the world at large, but, thus brought suddenly to a decision, she promptly named the only northern city of which she had heard. “I’se going to New York,” she said; “Miss Elize, my dear missus, was born dere, and it seems de right sort of a place to be takin de sweet babies to.”

“Daph,” said the honest captain, “we shall put in to New York to-morrow, for I have freight to land there, but you had better go on with me to old Boston. There I can look after you a little, and put you under charge of my good mother; and a better woman never trod shoe-leather, for all her son is none of the best. Shall it be so, Daph?”

“Could n’t do it! Massa Cap’in. Boston! dat mus be mighty far off. I nebber hear tell of such a place. New York’s de home for my babies, just where missus was born. May be, some ob her grand cousins may be turnin up da, to be friends to de pretty dears. Nobody would eber find us, way off in Boston!”

It was in vain that the captain tried to change Daph’s resolution; to New York she would go, and he now attacked her at another point, asking, “What are you going to do when you get there, Daph? Have you got any money?”

“Not so berry much to begin wid,” said Daph, producing a bit of rag from her pocket, in which some small change, the result of her traffic in chickens, was stored. “Not much money, Massa Cap’in, as you see for yeself; but what do you tink ob dese?” Daph loosened her dress, and showed on her black neck several gold chains, hung with rings of great richness and value, and an old-fashioned necklace, set with precious stones. “What do you tink ob dese, Massa Cap’in?” she repeated, as she displayed her treasures to his astonished sight.

Daph had put her valuables on for safe-keeping, doubtless, yet not without a certain satisfaction in wearing articles which so gratified the love of finery common to the black race.

The captain looked at the jewelry with a sober, pitying expression, as he said, compassionately, “Poor Daph! If you should offer one of those rich chains for sale in New York, you might be hurried off to jail as a thief, in a twinkling; then what would become of my pets?”

Daph betook herself to tears for a few moments, and then rallied, and said, stoutly, “Daph can work for de babies. She’s a strong darky. Heard massa say many a time, Daph would bring a big price. Daph will make heaps of money, and keep young massa and missus libbing like great folks, as dey should.”

At this idea, Daph’s face regained all its usual cheerfulness, and she could not be shaken by the further doubts and fears brought forward by Captain Jones.

“Keep what you have round your neck safely then, Daph,” said the honest sailor, “and never try to sell them, unless you are ready to starve. Here’s a little purse of solid gold, that I meant as a present for my mother; she, good soul, would rather you had it, I know. This will keep you till you can get a start, and then, may be, you can work for the dear children, as you say. I have an acquaintance in New York, who may let you a room or two, and if she can take you in, you may get along.”

“I knew de great Lord would look out for us. His name be praised!” said the poor negro, gratefully, as she kissed the hand of Captain Jones. “Ye wont lose your reward, Massa Cap’in; He’ll reckon wid ye!” and she pointed reverently upwards.

“May He reckon with me in mercy, and not count up my sins!” the captain said, solemnly, and then bade Daph “good-night.”

IV.
The Red House with the Blue Shutters.

Captain Jones was a prompt and upright business-man, faithful to his engagements, at any sacrifice.

He was pledged to remain in New York the shortest possible space of time, he therefore had not, after attending to necessary business, even an hour to devote to Daph and the little ones. It was a sad moment to him, when he strained Charlie to his breast for the last time, and kissed his “Water-lily,” as he loved to call Louise.

He had given Daph a letter to a sailor’s widow, with whom he thought she would be able to secure a home, where she would escape the idle and vicious poor who congregated in less respectable parts of the city. After having made Daph count on her fingers, half a dozen times, the number of streets she must cross before she came to “the small red house, with blue shutters,” where she was to stop, he piloted the little party into Broadway, and setting their faces in the right direction, he bade them an affectionate farewell.

As he shook Daph’s black hand for the last time, she placed in his a small parcel, clumsily tied up in brown paper, saying, “You puts that in your pocket, Massa Cap’in, and when you gets to sea, you open it, and you will understand what Daph means.”

Captain Jones did, almost unconsciously, as Daph suggested, as, with a full heart, he turned away from the little ones who had become so dear to him.

Once more, the only protector of her master’s children, Daph’s energy seemed to return to her. She wound the shawl more closely about Louise, drew Charlie to her honest bosom, looked after the various bundles, and then set off at a regular marching pace.

The strange appearance of the little party, soon attracted the attention of the knots of idle boys, who even then infested the more populous parts of New York.

“Hallo, Darky! where’s your hand-organ? What’ll ye take for your monkeys?” shouted one of these young rascals, as he eyed the children in their odd-looking red flannel garments.

Louise clung closely to Daph, who strode steadily on, apparently unconscious of the little troop gathering in her rear. By degrees the young scamps drew nearer to her, and one of them, taking hold of the skirt of her dress, cried out, “Come, fellows, form a line! Follow the captain, and do as you see me do!”

A long string of boys arranged themselves behind Daph, each holding on to the other’s tattered garments, and walking with mock solemnity, while the foremost shouted in Daph’s ear the most provoking and impudent things his imagination and rascality could suggest.

Daph maintained her apparent unconsciousness until she came in front of a large door, with a deep recess, which opened directly on the street, and but a step above the pavement.

With a sudden and unexpected jerk she freed herself from her tormentor, then placing Charlie and Louise for a moment in the recess, she charged upon her assailants. Right and left she dealt hearty slaps, with her open hand, which sent the little crew howling away, their cheeks smarting with pain and burning with rage. The whole thing was the work of a moment. Daph took Charlie in her arms, clasped the trembling hand of Louise, and resumed her steady walk as calmly as if nothing had occurred.

There was much to attract the attention of the strangers in the new scenes about them, but Daph kept her head straight forward, and devoted all her attention to numbering the corners she passed, that she might know when to begin to look out for the house so carefully described by good Captain Jones.

Louise soon grew weary of keeping pace with Daph’s long strides, and the faithful negro lifted the little girl in her arms, and went patiently on with her double burden.

A weary, weary walk it seemed, even to the strong-limbed negro, before they passed the last corner, according to her reckoning, and stood in front of the very red house with blue shutters which she had been so anxious to see. Much as she had longed to reach it, its appearance did not fill Daph’s heart with joy. A sort of dread of the new people whom she was to meet stole over her, but she resolved to put a bold face on the matter, and in this mood she gave a heavy knock at the blue door. Her imperative summons was promptly answered.

The door was opened by a little girl, of about ten years of age, who was covered, from her slender neck to her bare feet, with a long checked pinafore, above which appeared a closely-cropped, brown head, and a small, demure-looking face. The child stood perfectly still, gazing in quiet wonder at the strangers, and waiting to hear their business.

Daph had to set the children down on the steps, and fumble in her bosom for the captain’s precious note. She drew it at last from its hiding-place, and handed it triumphantly to the young porteress, saying, “Dis is what’ll tell you who we are, and what we wants.” The little girl looked at the note with a puzzled expression, and then calmly walked away, down the narrow hall, without saying a word. Daph sat down on the door-step, and took the children on her lap, with a kind of faith that all would go well, which made her feel quite easy. She was making the children laugh at a playful pig, that was running up and down the street, when angry tones from within met her ear, and she caught the following words:

“Take a negro for a lodger! I shall do no such thing! Who does Captain Jones think I am!”

“Mother,” said a calm young voice, “you know we shall be behind with the rent, and then, the children are white; one of them is the whitest child I ever saw.”

“The rent, yes, that is a bad business. Well, I suppose I must come to it! What one does have to put up with in this world! Show the woman in!”

Daph, who had heard the whole conversation quite plainly, rose at the last words, and was ready to accept the invitation to walk into the back room, which she immediately received.

Daph made a polite courtesy to the sour-looking little woman, who seemed hardly strong enough to have spoken in the loud, harsh tones which had just been heard.

“So Captain Jones sent you here!” said the woman, somewhat tartly, as she eyed the odd-looking party.

Daph had taken off the shawl from Louise, and set Charlie on his feet, that the children might appear to the best advantage; she stood proudly between them, as she said, “I wants to hire a room for my missus’s children. We’s been ’bliged to come north this summer, and will have to look out a bit for ourselves, as massa could n’t come wid us.”

“Daphne,” said the woman, sweetening a little, “Captain Jones says that is your name, and that you are an honest industrious woman? Do you think you will be able to pay the rent, regularly?”

“I has a right to my name,” said Daph, straightening up her stout figure. “Missus had it gib to me, like any white folks, when she had me baptised. I isn’t particler about having all of it, so most folks calls me Daph. Is I honest? Look me in de eye, and answer dat yeself. Is I industrious? Look at dat arm, and dese ere fingers; do dey look like if I was lazy?”

The clear eye, muscular arm, and hard work-worn hand were indeed the best assurances the doubtful questioner could have received.

“As to de rent,” added Daph, “my missus’ children isn’t widout money.” As she spoke, she gave her pocket a hearty shake, which produced a significant chinking, that seemed quite satisfactory.

“You are a queer one!” said the woman, “but you may as well look at the room. It’s right there in front; you passed it as you came in.”

Daph stepped to the door of the front room, pushed it open, and looked around her, with her head thrown a little on one side, as if that position were favorable to forming a correct judgment as to its merits.

“Well, it do be radder small,” she said, after a few moment’s dignified consideration, “but den it be proper clean, and two winder to de street, for de childen. Haven’t ye got anything to put in it; no chair, nor table, nor such like?”

“You will have to furnish for yourself,” said the woman, “but you shall have the room on reasonable terms.”

The bargain was soon made, but whether on reasonable terms or not, Daph had but little idea, though she prudently concealed her ignorance.

Once in her own domain, Daph sat down on the floor, and giving each of the children a huge sea-biscuit, she took them in her arms, and began to wave to and fro, singing one of the wild negro melodies, which spring up wherever the African race take root.

The weary children were soon in a sound sleep, and then Daph laid them carefully down on the clean floor, covered them with the shawls she had found so useful, and then sat stock-still beside them, for a few moments, lost in deep thought. After a while, she took from her pocket the purse the captain had given her, and her own store of small change, wrapped in its bit of rag. The latter she laid aside, saying, “That mus do for eat. Dat Daph’s own. Now dis, Daph jus borry from de cap’in. Massa’s children don’t have to come to livin on other people when Daph’s on her feet. Cap’in Jones got he money’s worth in that beauty gold chain I puts in his hand, and he not know it.”

Here Daph gave a real negro chuckle, at the thought of the artifice, which had made her feel at liberty to use the money so kindly given her, without accepting charity, from which she revolted, as well for herself as for her master’s children.

“Now Daph must be gittin dis place in order quick, or de childen will be wakin up,” said Daph, as she rose hastily with the air of one prepared for action. She carefully closed the shutters, locked the door behind her, and putting the key in her pocket, set off to make her purchases.

V.
Daph’s Shopping.

Daph had observed a small cabinet-maker’s shop, not far from her new home, and to it she easily made her way. The sight of two little wooden chairs, painted with the usual variety of wonderfully bright colors, attracted her attention, and suggested her plan of operations.

“It’s for de childen I’se buying,” she said, “and what’s de use ob paying a big price for grown up things. I just wants two chairs and a few tings to match for de dears.” While Daph was thus soliloquising, the shopman came forward, and she promptly addressed him as follows, “I’se jus come, sar, to buy de fixin ob a leetle room for my massa’s childen, General Louis La Tourette.”

Daph mentioned her master’s name with a pompous air, and with great distinctness, which had their effect on the humble cabinet-maker. He moved about briskly, and Daph soon had displayed before her all the small articles of furniture he had on hand.

The bright yellow chairs, adorned with the wonderful roses and tulips, were first set aside; then followed a little table, painted in the same fanciful manner, and lastly, a good-sized trundle bed, of a somewhat less gaudy appearance.

“I’se in a most pertickler hurry, jus now,” said Daph; “would you jus hab de kindness to get for de bed jus what will make it look neat and comfable; not too nice for childen to play on, while I steps out for a few notions as I’se ’bliged to git.”

The shopkeeper kindly complied, while Daph went on her way delighted at being thus able to have what the children would need for comfort, a matter about which she felt herself quite ignorant in this new climate.

Daph’s next stop was at a tinman’s. Two wash-basins, such as she had seen on board ship, three shining tin cups, three pewter plates and spoons, one strong knife and a capacious saucepan, completed the purchases which she promptly made. Drawing a gold piece from the captain’s purse, she laid it calmly down on the counter, then gathered up the various articles selected. The tinker eyed her a little suspiciously, but there was no look of shame or guilt in her frank and honest face. He concluded she was a servant, sent out by her mistress, and carefully gave her the right change, which seemed, in Daph’s eyes, to double her possessions. When she returned to the cabinet-maker’s, she found the trundle-bed neatly fitted out, while a lad with a wheelbarrow was ready to take home the furniture. She added to her purchases a plain wooden bench, and then said, composedly, “I don’t know de valer ob such like tings, but General Louis La Tourette, my massa, does, and you must deal right and honest.” As she spoke, she laid down two of her precious gold pieces, then gathered up the small change returned to her, not without some misgivings as to the accuracy of the shopman.

When Daph reached home, she found the children still sleeping soundly, and she was able to get the little room in order to her satisfaction before they were fairly awake.

She turned up the trundle-bed on end, and threw over it as a curtain the pure white spread the shopman had provided. The deep recess on one side of the chimney, thus shut in, Daph intended to consider as her private resort, and in the small cupboard in the wall, she laid out the children’s clothes with scrupulous care. This done, she set out the little table with the new cups and plates, and drew the chairs near it, while the remaining tin treasures were ranged along the wash-bench in the most attractive manner.

It was well for Louise and Charlie that they had been much accustomed to being away from their mother, or they might have been poorly prepared for their present lot.

General La Tourette had married a young American girl, who was then living on an island near that on which his plantation was situated. Shortly after this marriage, the husband received a dangerous wound in his side, which unfitted him for active duty, and he resolved to settle down on his own plantation, which had for a long time been under the care of a most injudicious overseer.

Daph accompanied her mistress to her new home, and tried her utmost skill in cookery to tempt her master’s now delicate appetite. Even her powers were at last at fault, and General La Tourette could not taste the tempting morsels which the faithful creature loved always to prepare for him.

Frequent change of air was now prescribed for the invalid, and the fond mother was almost constantly separated from the children she so tenderly loved; yet her sweet, devoted, christian character had already made its impression on the little Louise.

Thus situated, the children had learned to be happy for the present hour, with any one who happened to have the charge of them. General La Tourette, though a native of France, spoke English in his family, and to that language his little ones were accustomed. They took no fancy to the cross French nurse who had latterly had the charge of them, and much preferred Daph, whose English was pleasant to their ears. They loved to linger at the door of her southern kitchen, or play under the wide-spreading tree that waved over its roof.

Daph returned their affection with all the strength of her warm heart, and Mrs. La Tourette felt sure that in her absence, Daph would watch over both children and nurse with an eagle-eye.

With more of the dove than the eagle in her expression, Daph now sat beside the little ones in their new home, so far from the land of their birth.

Not long after her preparations were completed, Daph had the satisfaction of seeing the children awake, refreshed by their long sleep, and full of eager delight at the wonders achieved by their new nurse. She listened with hearty satisfaction to their exclamations of surprise and pleasure at the shining tin and gayly painted chairs.

Daph was just wondering what was to fill plates and cups that looked so attractive, when a bell was rung imperatively, in the street, before the house. From all sides women and girls gathered round the bell-ringer’s cart, and from his great cans he filled their vessels with milk, which was at this moment most refreshing to the eyes of Daph. She seized her new saucepan, and sallying out, presented it to the milkman, and received her supply. She watched carefully the bits of money given by other applicants and was fortunate enough to select, from the change she had that day received, the right payment for the milk.

In a few moments, the children were seated at the little table, and enjoying their nice supper of crackers and milk, in a way that made Daph’s eyes sparkle with delight.

“Daffy eat too!” said Charlie, motioning to her to put the spoon in her mouth, instead of his own. “Yes, Daffy,” said Louise, “do take some supper.”

Daph had hardly thought once of herself during the whole of this busy afternoon, but when the children had finished their meal, she filled her cup with the fare they had enjoyed, and ate it with no less satisfaction.

“Daph knew de great Lord would take care of us!” she murmured, as she looked round on the room that seemed to her so comfortable, and true, fervent gratitude, undisturbed by one fear for the future, filled the heart of the faithful negro.

VI.
Clouds.

Alas for Daph! She was soon to find life was not all sunshine in her northern home. The lovely May weather, which had been like a pleasant welcome to the strangers, suddenly vanished, and was succeeded by dark clouds, pouring rain, and keen easterly winds. Daph was glad to keep the children wrapped in the bed-clothes, while she racked her ingenuity to find means of amusing them. Charlie took a wash-basin for a drum, and the pewter spoon with which he beat it was a constant and patient sufferer. Louise was not so easily pleased; she began to miss her mother sorely, and tried poor Daph, by pleading piteously to see her “own dear mamma.”

Daph had tried to banish from her mind all thoughts of her master and mistress, for the bare imagination of what they might have suffered made her wild with distress. She said to herself, “What for Daph go to tink about tings, jus as likely nebber was at all! Daph makes out de great Lord could n’t save massa and Miss Elize all hisself, widout Daph to help him! Foolish darky! She better cheer up, and take care ob de childen, ’stead o’ jus whimper, whimper, like a sick monkey.”

Daph had to go through a course of consolation, similar to the above, very frequently, to enable her to maintain her cheerfulness; but the piteous questionings of the little Louise well-nigh overcame all the poor negro’s philosophy.

“I’se tell you what it is, Miss Lou,” poor Daph said, desperately, at last, “I’se jus tell you what it is; de great Lord is a-takin care ob your mamma, and if you’s a good girl, you’ll jus see her some day, and if you is not, de great Lord will nebber, nebber bring you together!”

Daph’s manner, as well as her words, had some effect upon Louise, and she tried to content herself with watching the rain streaming down the window-panes, and was soon in a sufficiently cheerful mood to march up and down the room, to the sound of Charlie’s music, greatly to his satisfaction.

The dreary weather without was not all that Daph had to contend with; she found she had an enemy within the house, whose attacks it was far more difficult to meet.

The little woman, whose angry voice had attracted Daph’s attention at first, kept her humble lodger familiar with its harsh tones. Daph’s appearance was the signal for a volley of complaints, as to the noise made by the children, the marks left on the floor by Daph’s feet, as she returned from the well, the unpleasantness of “seeing other folks so much at home in one’s own house,” etc., etc.

Daph never had a chance to get any further than, “deed, Miss Ray!” in her attempts at self-justification, for the opening of her mouth was sure to produce another tirade on the “impudence of certain people, that nobody knew anything about.”

The demure-looking little girl was generally a silent spectator of these attacks, but now and then she was forced to cry out, “O, mother! don’t!” which protest was generally met by a sharp box of the ear, and a “take that, Mary, and learn to be quiet!” If Mary Ray had learned any lesson, it certainly was to be quiet. She rarely spoke, and her footsteps were almost as noiseless as the fall of the winter snow.

Daph soon found out that Mrs. Ray considered Mary especially guilty, in having presumed to live, when her brother, a fine healthy boy, had been snatched away by sudden disease.

The loss of her husband, and consequent poverty, had somewhat soured Mrs. Ray’s temper, but her last bereavement seemed to have made her all acidity. She constantly reproached Mary for being a useless girl, always in her mother’s sight, when the dear boy, on whom she had hoped to lean, had been taken from her.

Daph’s keen sympathies were soon warmly enlisted for little Mary, who had really begun to believe she was quite in fault for continuing to cumber the earth, when nobody wanted her here.

Daph never passed Mary without a cheerful word, and she contrived to show the child many trifling acts of kindness, which went directly to her heart.

At one time Daph, with her strong arm, lifted Mary’s heavy pail of water, at another, she took her pitcher to the milkman in a pouring rain; and one day, when she could think of no other way of showing her interest, she secretly bestowed on the little girl one of the few oranges which still remained of the store brought from the ship.

Mary’s sorrowful face, Mrs. Ray’s harsh voice, the penetrating chill in the air, and the monotonous life she led in the single room, made it hard for Daph to bear up cheerfully, and, but for the children, she would have withdrawn to a corner, and moped all the time. She managed to keep up her spirits during the day, but when the little ones were asleep, she had her own sad, wakeful hours. More than a week had passed in this dreary way. Daph saw her treasured store of money fast diminishing, under the necessary expenditure for supplying the simple wants of her little establishment, and she already saw, too plainly, that the whole party must soon have a new outfit of clothing, or they would be disgraced by their rags and uncleanliness.

The children were quietly slumbering near her; she had extinguished the candle, that it might not waste its feeble light, and, with her head on her hand, she began to consider seriously the situation in which she found herself. The present was dark enough, but what was she to think of the gloomy future!

Where should she look for the work she would so willingly do? How could she leave her little charge, even if that work were found?

A sense of utter helplessness came over the poor negro, and hot tears poured down her cheeks.

A sudden thought struck her; there was One all-powerful, and to Him she would go. She fell on her knees, and uttered her first simple prayer: “Will de great Lord gib poor Daph something for do?”

Overpowered by the effort she had made, and fearful there was something presuming in a poor creature like herself daring to speak to the being she so reverenced, Daph sank down on the floor, in a position of silent humility. A conviction that she had been heard and forgiven for the boldness of her prayer stole over her, and she stretched herself as usual on the bare floor, and was soon in a sound sleep.

VII.
A New Path.

Daph rose the following morning, at her usual early hour, and went to perform her customary ablutions beside the well, keeping, however, a sharp look out for Mrs. Ray, to be ready to beat a retreat as soon as that formidable person should make herself heard. No Mrs. Ray appeared, and Daph’s curiosity tempted her to take a peep into the room which served as kitchen, parlor, and general abiding-place for Mrs. Ray and Mary, though they slept in the loft above.

Mary was diligently ironing, at this early hour, giving from time to time, dolorous glances at a great basketful of damp clothes, which seemed to diminish but slowly under her efforts.

“Where’s your ma?” said Daph, as she thrust her head fairly in at the door, regardless of consequences.

“Mother’s very sick this morning,” said Mary, sorrowfully, “she can’t even turn herself in bed, and all these clothes must go home to-night, we have had to keep them too long now, it has been so wet.”

“Nebber fret bout de close,” said Daph, cheerily; “I’se held a flat ’fore dis! Do Daph good to work a little, she mighty tired, sittin up all day like a lady. Spose I jus steps up to look at your ma. May be I might do somewhat for her, to make her feel some better.”

“O, don’t!” exclaimed Mary, hastily, “she might not like it.”

“Nebber you mind dat!” said Daph, “you jus show me de way.”

Mary pointed to the door that led to the narrow staircase, and Daph needed no further guidance.

“Ye’s mighty sick, isn’t ye, Miss’ Ray?” said Daph, compassionately, as she stepped to the bedside of the sufferer.

Mrs. Ray turned her head to the wall and groaned, but Daph was not to be easily disconcerted.

“Spose I jus makes you a little warm drink, and kinder helps you to frow off dis ere sickness?” said Daph, insinuatingly.

“O, my back! my bones! they ache so!” said the poor woman.

“It’s jus bein out in dis wet wedder, jus a-comin from dat awful hot fire into de swash down rain,” said Daph. “White folks isn’t used to such hard work. You jus can’t bear it, dats it.”

Daph had struck the right cord, and Mrs. Ray answered, “No; I aint used to it. That’s true enough, but who have I got to help me, but just that slip of a girl. O, if my boy had only lived!”

Daph did not wait to hear more of the complaints, which were the burden of Mrs. Ray’s daily talk. She hastened to the kitchen, and with Mary’s help, she soon prepared a steaming bowl of of herb-tea, which Mrs. Ray took from her hand without a word. She would have resisted, when Daph proceeded to bathe her feet in warm water, but the kind-hearted negro went steadily on, regardless of opposition, saying, “You’s so very sick, we’s mus jus take care of you, same as if you were a bit of a baby. There now, let me jus put de cubber over you,” she said, as she released the restive feet. “Now, if you could jus git a little sleep, while I go dress de babies, I’se do believe you would feel mighty better.”

Mrs. Ray did fall into a quiet sleep, the more sound from the night of wakefulness and pain she had just passed. When she awoke, she heard unusual sounds in the kitchen below, and if she could have peeped down the stair-way, a pleasant scene would have met her eyes. A cheerful fire roared up the wide chimney. Daph, revived by the welcome heat, was ironing away at the great table, with real heartiness, while little Mary, at her side, tried to move her slender arms in the same energetic manner. Charlie was seated on the table, a happy spectator of these proceedings, while Louise stood by him, sprinkling and folding a bit of rag again and again, not doubting that she was amazingly useful.

“Mary! Mary!” said a voice from above, feebler and a little less sharp than usual, “who’s down there with you?”

“It’s jus me and de childen, Miss’ Ray,” said Daph, putting her head fearlessly up the stair-way. “Dat big basket o’ clothes wants ’tention, and I’se jus thought I’se better be ironin a bit, to git de tings out de way.”

Mrs. Ray made no answer, and Daph, after satisfying herself that the patient was a little better, stepped quietly back into the kitchen.

Daph really enjoyed her busy day, and it was followed by sound natural sleep, instead of hours of wakefulness and anxious thought.

It was more than a week before Mrs. Ray recovered from the violent cold which had so suddenly removed her from the scene of operations; meanwhile Daph and Mary had become excellent friends. The little girl exchanged her hard work for the pleasant care of the children, and Daph’s strong arms had the exercise they needed. Daph’s busy brain had not meanwhile been idle; the sight of the great oven in the wide chimney-corner had suggested to her a plan, which she was impatient to carry out.

When Mrs. Ray first appeared in the kitchen, she gave an anxious look about her, as if she expected to see nothing but disorder and dirt; but the well-scoured floor and shining plates on the dresser had another tale to tell. Of Daph’s skill in cookery, she had tasted several striking specimens, since her appetite had in a measure returned, and she looked on somewhat curiously, as Daph busied herself about the fire, preparing what she called, “Just a bit relish, to strengthen up Miss’ Ray, now she’s on her two feet again.”

Mary was with the children, and Mrs. Ray took the opportunity to say, “You have been very good to me, Daph, and I am sure you had no reason;” and tears of shame actually came into the poor woman’s eyes.

“Now don’t, Miss’ Ray!” said Daph, “I’se isn’t been and done anything at all. Come, take a little breakfast, and ye’ll feel better, I’m sure.”

“What can I do for you, Daph?” continued Mrs. Ray, who had been really touched by the persevering kindness of the honest negro.

“Well now, Miss’ Ray,” said Daph, “I wants to make a little money. I jus thinks I might do de ironin for you ebery week, for you can’t stand such hard work, and then, may be you’d jus let me hab de use ob dat beauty oven, for somewhat I wants to do. I’se jus used to cookin, and may be, if I makes some ob de cakes missus used to like so much, I might sell dem, at some ob de grand houses, and so make a pretty sum, by-and-bye.”

This arrangement was easily made, for Mrs. Ray felt within her but little strength for work, and she was also anxious to shew her sense of Daph’s late kindness.

One bright June morning, Daph put herself in what she called “splinker order,” and the children shouted with delight when her toilet was made. With the help of Mrs. Ray and Mary she had cut out and completed a good calico dress, and a full white apron, and these, with her snowy turban, made a most respectable appearance. A new basket, covered with a clean cloth, was on her head, and within it was stored a variety of nice cakes, which she was proud to show as a specimen of her cookery.

Mary stood at the window with the children, as Daph went off, and the little ones kissed their hands to her until she was fairly out of sight.

Daph had learned her way about the city with ease, for she had quick observation, and a ready memory, and she now found no difficulty in reaching what she called the “grand houses,” which were ranged in imposing rows, on what is now one of the business streets.

At door after door she tried to gain admittance, but the consequential servants turned her off with a contemptuous word, and her heart began to sink within her. At last, as an imperative footman was ordering her away from a great family mansion, two ladies passed out, to enter a carriage. Daph was desperate. She dropped a curtsy and said, “Ladies, like some nice cakes?” and at the same moment she lowered her basket, uncovered it, and displayed its tempting array.

The frank, good face of the negro, and the attractive appearance of her wares, secured the attention of the ladies, and they purchased largely. Encouraged by their kindness, Daph said, “If de ladies would jus speak for Daph to some ob de great folks, to buy from her Tuesdays and Fridays, Daph would try to please dem.”

“I like the woman, mother,” said Rose Stuyvesant, “shall we engage her to come here always, and see what we can do for her?”

The mother assented, and Daph, turning to express her gratitude, looked into the face of the youngest speaker.

It was a sweet face for man or angel to look into. Nature had made it fair, and parted the golden hair above the soft blue eyes; but there was a sweetness round the expressive mouth, and a purity in every line of the oval face, that told of a soul at peace with God, and ruled by his holy law.

Daph long remembered that face, and as she visited the Stuyvesant mansion, week after week, she deemed that a bright day when she caught even a glimpse of her, whom she called “the sweet young lady.”

Time passed on, and Daph thrived in her little traffic, until her cakes were well known, and her form eagerly looked for in many a splendid home; but the best triumphs of her skill she ever reserved for the Stuyvesant mansion, where she had first found a welcome.

VIII.
News.

As the honest efforts of poor Daph were crowned with success, she found herself abundantly able to provide for the physical wants of her master’s children. Three years of toil had rolled quickly away. Charlie had passed his fourth birth-day, and become a strong-willed, sturdy boy, while the slender figure of the fair Louise had grown and rounded, and the Rose had learned to bloom on the cheek of Captain Jones’s “Water-lily.”

Daph looked at her little ones with affectionate pride, and watched over them with the most tender care. She encouraged them to play in the small garden in the rear of their humble home, but in the street they were never seen. The garments she fashioned for them were neat and tidy, and the snowy aprons they always wore, were monuments of her skill as a laundress; but she was conscious of a something in their external appearance, which was not as it should be. About the manners of her charge, Daph was still more troubled. “Why you eat so, Miss Lou?” she would sometimes say. “How shall I eat, Daffy?” the child would reply. “Well, I jus don’t know,” poor Daph would answer, “but dere’s somewhat bout de way you childen do be, at de table, dat Daph don’t jus know how to spress it.”

More serious troubles than these by degrees came upon Daph, in her management. Charlie, though an affectionate, generous child, was hot-tempered and wilful, and when he resisted Daph’s authority, or raised his little hand to give an angry blow, the poor creature knew not what to do. In these scenes she generally triumphed, by the look of real distress which clouded her usually pleasant face, and brought Charlie, repentant to her arms.

With Louise, Daph had another difficulty. The child was usually gentle and submissive, but she seemed to pine for other companions, and a home different from that which Daph was able to provide for her.

The early lessons of piety which Louise had learned at her mother’s knee, had faded from her mind. Daph could remind the little girl to say her simple prayer at morning and evening, but she could not talk to her of the loving Saviour, or recount the wonders of the Gospel she had never read.

The little book, with the golden clasps, Daph had cherished with the utmost care. She knew it contained the secret which could bring peace and order to her little home, but its treasures she, in her ignorance, could not unlock.

Once she had ventured to ask Mrs. Ray to read a little to her from it, but she met with a short negative, and a cold, averted look.

Mary was almost as ignorant of letters as Daph herself. So the poor negro kept the precious book unopened, and awaited God’s time for leading her from darkness unto light.

That the children of her dear mistress would be allowed to grow up, ignorant of the knowledge that belonged to their station, and strangers to the Bible their mother had loved, Daph would not allow herself to believe. “It will come, I’se sure!” Daph would say to herself; “de great Lord can make it right!” and thus she stifled her anxious forebodings, and strove to do the duty of the present hour.

Mrs. Ray’s temper was not quite as trying as when Daph first made her acquaintance. The kindness of the honest negro, and her cheerful acceptance of the trials of her lot, had their influence under that humble roof, and won respect and affection, even from Mrs. Ray. The sunshine of Charlie’s happy, roguish face, had cheered the lonely widow, and Louise had exerted on her a softening, refining influence. Mrs. Ray was improved, but not thoroughly changed.

Little Mary had many harsh words yet to hear, but time had abated the poignancy of the mother’s grief for her lost darling, and made her somewhat more alive to the virtues of her hard-working, quiet, little girl.

During the three years that had passed, since they had dwelt under the same roof, sickness, at various times, had made the little household seem like one family, and the habit of helping each other had daily drawn them nearer.

Mary’s demure face was lighted up with wonder as she said to Daph, one day, “There’s a gentleman at the door, asking if mother still lives here, and if you are at home.”

“Is it a tall, tall gentleman, that looks grand-like and magnificent?” said Daph, earnestly, as the thought of her master at once rose to her mind.

“Not exactly,” said Mary, and, as she spoke, Mrs. Ray opened the door, and ushered in Captain Jones.

Although her first feeling was disappointment, Daph shed tears of joy as she clasped the hand of the honest captain; her tears, however, brightened into smiles as she saw the approving look the captain bestowed on her pets, as he caught them in his arms.

Charlie struggled and fought to be free, shouting, “I like you, sir, but you need not squeeze me so, and rub me with your rough whiskers.”

Charlie got another hug for an answer, while Louise said, “Who is it, Daph? It cannot be my father!”

“No! no! darling!” said the captain, quickly, and he dashed the tears from his eyes, and was sobered in an instant.

Mrs. Ray looked on with astonishment and curiosity, at the cordial meeting between her old acquaintance and her lodgers.

Captain Jones had known Mrs. Ray slightly in her better days, and he now turned to her, and inquired kindly after her welfare. As usual, she had a series of grievances to relate, but she forbore speaking slightingly of Mary, who had modestly retired into the background. The little girl was somewhat astonished when the captain came towards her, and gave her a hearty greeting, as the child of his old mess-mate, and seemed to think her well worth speaking to, though “only a girl.”

The whole party sat down together, and time passed rapidly on, while the captain sat, with the children in his arms, and heard Daph’s account of her various trials and adventures since they parted. Mrs. Ray listened with eager curiosity, but she could gather little from Daph’s words that she did not already know.

At length, Captain Jones said, with a great effort, “Daph, I have something to say to you, which is not fit for the children’s ears,” and he gave at the same time an expressive glance towards Mrs. Ray.

The widow seized Mary by the hand, and flounced indignantly out of the room, saying, “I am sure we have too much to do to stay here, where we are not wanted. No good comes of secrets, that ever I heard of!”

“Come children, come with Mary,” said the girl, apparently unconscious of her mother’s indignant manner.

The children followed somewhat reluctantly, and Daph and the captain were left alone together. Since the moment of her landing, Daph had had no one to whom she might speak of the dark fears for her master and mistress, that at times preyed upon her; to her own strange departure she had never alluded. She had met questionings with dignified silence, and had patiently endured insinuations, which, but for her clear conscience, would have driven her to frenzy. Now, she felt that she was to hear some important news, and her trembling knees refused to support her. Anxious and agitated, she sank on her low bench, and fixed her eyes eagerly on the captain.

“Daph,” he began, “there was horrible truth in your words that night, when you pleaded so earnestly on board the Martha Jane! I thank God that I did not turn a deaf ear to you then! Daph, you have saved your master’s children from a bloody death, and you will be rewarded, as there is a Father in Heaven!”

The captain paused, and Daph bent anxiously forward, exclaiming, “My dear missus? master?”

Captain Jones could not speak. He drew his hand significantly across his throat, and then pointed solemnly upwards.

Daph understood his meaning but too well. She had hoped on, determinately; but now the hour of awful certainty had come, and she could not bear it. She gave one loud scream, and fell senseless on the floor. The wild yell that burst from the anguished heart of the negro, rang through the house, and Mrs. Ray and Mary were at the door in a moment, followed by the terrified children. Little Louise dropped down beside Daph, and began to cry piteously, while Charlie flew at Captain Jones like a young lion, and loudly exclaiming, “The naughty man has killed dear Daffy, and I’ll punish him.”

While Mrs. Ray and her daughter were making every effort to recall poor Daph to consciousness, Charlie continued his attack upon the captain, with sturdy foot, clenched hand, and sharp teeth, until the honest sailor was actually obliged to protect himself, by putting the child forcibly from the room, and firmly locking the door.

Perfectly infuriated, Charlie flew into the street, screaming, “They’ve killed my Daffy! The wicked! wicked man.”

Several persons gathered round the enraged child, and a young physician, who was passing, stopped, to find out the cause of the disturbance. Charlie’s words, “She lies dead there! The wicked man has killed her,” caught the attention of Dr. Bates, and he eagerly asked, “Where, where, child?”

Charlie pointed towards the house, and the doctor entered, without ceremony, Charlie closely following him. His loud knock was answered by Captain Jones, whose cautious manner of unlocking the door seemed, to the young physician, a most suspicious circumstance.

Charlie no sooner caught sight of his enemy than he leaped furiously upon him. The strong sailor received him in his muscular arms, and there held him, a most unwilling prisoner, while he watched the proceedings going on about poor Daph, and rendered assistance where he could.

Dr. Bates ordered her clothes to be instantly loosened, and then commanded Mrs. Ray to lay her flat on the floor, while he proceeded to apply his lancet to her arm.

While this process was going on, the clock on a neighboring steeple struck twelve. Captain Jones looked hastily at his great silver watch, and saw that it was indeed midday, and he had not a moment to spare, as the Martha Jane was by this time quite ready to set sail, and only waiting for her captain.

He hurriedly placed a little parcel on the mantel-piece, and with one long, sorrowful look at poor Daph, and a hasty farewell to Mrs. Ray and the children, he left the house.