to belong to my father. I have come to buy him back again.'

Legree's face grew black with anger. 'Yes, I did buy such a fellow,' he
growled in rage. 'And a bad bargain it was, too! The most rebellious,
saucy, impudent dog! Set up my niggers to run away. He owned to it, and,
when I bid him tell me where they were, he said he knew, but wouldn't
tell. He stuck to it, too, though I gave him the very worst beating I
ever gave a nigger yet. I believe he is trying to die. I shouldn't
wonder if he did.'

'Where is he?' said George. 'Let me see him.' His cheeks were crimson,
and his eye flashed fire at the thought that Legree had dared to treat
dear Uncle Tom so badly.

'He is in that shed,' said a little fellow who was holding George
Shelby's horse.

George, without saying another word, hurried to the place to which the
little boy pointed.

As he entered the shed, his head felt giddy and his heart sick.

Uncle Tom lay on a heap of straw on the floor, still and quiet.

'Oh, dear Uncle Tom,' cried George as he knelt beside him, 'dear Uncle
Tom, do wake--do speak once more. Here's Mas'r George--your own little
Mas'r George. Don't you know me?'

'Mas'r George!' said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble
voice. 'Mas'r George? it is--it is. It's all I wanted. They haven't