I had told her how the boy had grown, and that sot her off. And from that
night, every minute of her time almost, when she could without bein'
impolite and troublesome (Cicely wus a perfect lady, inside and out), she
would talk to me about what she wanted to do for the boy, to have the laws
changed before he grew up; she didn't dare to let him go out into the
world with the laws as they was now, with temptation on every side of him.

[Illustration: THE SPARE ROOM.]

"You know, aunt Samantha," she says to me, "that I wanted to die when my
husband died; but I want to live now. Why, I _must_ live; I cannot
die, I dare not die until my boy is safer. I will work, I will die if
necessary, for him."

It wus the same old Cicely, I see, not carin' for herself, but carin' only
for them she loved. Lovin' little creeter, good little creeter, she always
wuz, and always would be. And so I told Josiah.

Wall, we had the boy set between us to the supper-table, Josiah and me
did, in Thomas Jefferson's little high-chair. I had new covered it on
purpose for him with bright copperplate calico.

And that night at supper, and after supper, I judged, and judged calmly,--
we made the estimate after we went to bed, Josiah and me did,--that the
boy asked 3 thousand and 85 questions about every thing under the sun and
moon, and things over 'em, and outside of 'em, and inside.

Why, I panted for breath, but wouldn't give in. I was determined to use
Cicely first-rate, and we loved the boy too. But, oh! it was a weary love,