on Kentucky soil, anyhow?"

"O, don't curse them," said the child; "my papa is a Yankee."

"Is he?" He stopped short and looked at her with a kind of pity. "I am
sorry for you, that's all; sorry from my heart. I'd rather be a negro
trader."

"I'm sorry too," said Roberta. There was a droop about the corners of her
mouth. "But don't you worry about your brother. Mam' Sarah and me will
find him and do all we can for him."

"Will you?" said the hoy eagerly; "will you, really? O! that will be too
kind for any thing. I can never forget it, never."

"But how am I to know him? Is he like you?"

"Yes, he is like me; we were twins; but ten million times better looking.
He looked like an angel, as he is, as he is."

Great throes convulsed his chest in his efforts to control himself.

"I don't want to be a baby, but I was never away from Bert a day in my
life. Say, I can tell you how to know him. He has a picture of mother and
a Testament in his pocket, with his name written on the fly-leaf, 'Albert
Kurl.'"

"Well, we will find him," said Roberta.

There was a whispered consultation between the three, Mam' Sarah, Roberta