"I do. This is a Christian house. This is a Christian community.
You are out of place under this roof and in this neighborhood. Life
was hard enough for your mother and me before. But we did for you
what we could; you were pleased to make us this return. It will be
better for you to go."

Every word seemed to have been hammered out of iron, once melted in
the forge, but now cold and unchangeably shaped to its heavy
purpose. The young man writhed under the hopelessness of the
situation:--

"Sir, is it all on one side? Have I done nothing for you in all
these years? Until I was nearly a man's age, did I not work? For my
years of labor did I receive more than a bare living? Did you ever
know a slave as faithful? Were you ever a harsh master to this
slave? Do you owe me nothing for all those years?--I do not mean
money,--I mean kindness, justice!"

"How many years before you began to work for us did your mother and
I work for you? Did you owe us nothing for all that?"

"I did! I do! I always shall! But do you count it against me that
Nature brought me forth helpless and kept me helpless for so many
years afterwards? If my being born was a fault, whose was it? Is
the dependence of an infant on its parent a debt? Father! father!
Be just! be just! that you may be more kind to me."

"Kind to YOU! Just to YOU!" Hitherto his father had spoken with a
quietude which was terrible, on account of the passion raging
beneath. But now he sprang to his feet, strode across, and, pulling