forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good. Now I shall die
content.'

'You shan't die! you mustn't die, nor think of it. I've come to buy you
and take you home,' said George, and the tears came into his eyes as he
bent over poor Uncle Tom.

'Oh, Mas'r George, ye're too late. The Lord has bought me, and is going
to take me home.'

[Illustration]

'Oh, don't. It breaks my heart to think of what you've suffered--lying
in this old shed, too.'

'You mustn't, now, tell Chloe, poor soul, how ye found me,' said Tom,
taking George by the hand. 'It would seem so dreadful to her. Only tell
her ye found me going into glory, and that I couldn't stay for no one.
And oh, the poor chil'en, and the baby--my old heart's been most broke
for them. Tell them to follow me. Give my love to mas'r, and dear, good
missis, and everybody in the place. I love them all.'

He closed his eyes, and with a smile he fell asleep. Uncle Tom too was
free.

Beyond the gates of Legree's farm, George had noticed a dry, sandy
knoll, shaded by a few trees. There he made Uncle Tom's grave. No stone
marks his last resting-place. He needs none. God knows where he lies.

Kneeling there George bent his head, in shame and sorrow. 'Here me, dear