My father calls me brave;
What wicked action have I done,
That I should be a slave?

I saw my little sister sold,
So will they do to me;
My heavenly Father, let me die,
For then I shall be free.

So talking to himself he fell into a doze, and dreamed about his mother.
He thought her large serious eyes were looking into his, and her long
black hair falling over his face. His mother was part Indian and part
white, with only just enough of the black to make her hair a little
curly. It don't make much difference what color people are in the slave
states. If the mothers are slaves the children are slaves too, even if
they are nine-tenths white.

From this pleasant dream Lewis was roused by a splash of cold water, and
Aunt Sally, with her head out of the window, was calling, "Here you lazy
nigger! come here and grind this coffee for me." And the little boy
awoke to find himself a friendless orphan, in a cold world with a
cruel master.

The next morning Lewis was playing about the yard with as good a will as
any of the young negroes. Children's troubles don't last long, and to
see him turning somersets, singing Jim Crow, and kicking up a row
generally, you would suppose he had forgotten all about the lost primer
and his mother too.

He was in the greatest possible glee in the afternoon, at being sent