'No, indeed, Mas'r St. Clare,' said Tom, very decidedly; 'no, indeed.'

'But, Tom, you couldn't possibly have earned by your work such clothes
and such nice, comfortable rooms and good food as I have given you.'

'I knows all that, Mas'r St. Clare. Mas'r has been too good. But, mas'r,
I'd rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have 'em
mine than have the best, and have 'em any man's else. I had so, mas'r. I
thinks it's nature, mas'r.'

'I suppose so, Tom. You will be going off and leaving me, in a month or
two,' he said, rather discontentedly. 'Though why you shouldn't, I don't
know,' he added, in a gayer voice.

[Illustration]

'Not while mas'r is in trouble,' said Tom. 'I'll stay with mas'r as long
as he wants me--so as I can be of any use.'

'Not while I am in trouble, Tom?' said Mr. St. Clare, looking sadly out
of the window. 'And when will my trouble be over?' Then half-smiling he
turned from the window, and laid his hand on Tom's shoulder. 'Ah, Tom,
you soft, silly boy,' he said. 'I won't keep you. Go home to your wife
and children, and give them all my love.'

'Cousin,' said Miss Ophelia, coming into the room, 'I want to speak to
you about Topsy.'

'What has she been doing now?'