she styled me. It was my ignorance of that mistress that gave rise to such
extravagant imaginings.

Dr. Flint occasionally had high prices offered for me; but he always said,
"She don't belong to me. She is my daughter's property, and I have no right
to sell her." Good, honest man! My young mistress was still a child, and I
could look for no protection from her. I loved her, and she returned my
affection. I once heard her father allude to her attachment to me, and his
wife promptly replied that it proceeded from fear. This put unpleasant
doubts into my mind. Did the child feign what she did not feel? or was her
mother jealous of the mite of love she bestowed on me? I concluded it must
be the latter. I said to myself, "Surely, little children are true."

One afternoon I sat at my sewing, feeling unusual depression of spirits. My
mistress had been accusing me of an offence, of which I assured her I was
perfectly innocent; but I saw, by the contemptuous curl of her lip, that
she believed I was telling a lie.

I wondered for what wise purpose God was leading me through such thorny
paths, and whether still darker days were in store for me. As I sat musing
thus, the door opened softly, and William came in. "Well, brother," said I,
"what is the matter this time?"

"O Linda, Ben and his master have had a dreadful time!" said he.

My first thought was that Benjamin was killed. "Don't be frightened,
Linda," said William; "I will tell you all about it."

It appeared that Benjamin's master had sent for him, and he did not
immediately obey the summons. When he did, his master was angry, and began