mastered the art of dressmaking and the tailor's trade. She was an
expert housekeeper. She lived at the beck and call of all. She was
idolized by her husband. Her life was a supreme act of worship--a
devotion to husband, children, friends, the poor, the slave that made
her a high-priestess of humanity.

The thing that struck Phil with terrific force was that this beautiful
delicate woman was the slave of slaves.

As a rule, they died young.

He began to wonder how a people of the intelligence of these proud
white Southerners could endure such a thing as Slavery. Its waste, its
extravagance, its burdens were beyond belief.

He laughed when he thought of his mother crying over _Uncle Tom's
Cabin_. Yet a new edition of a hundred thousand copies had just come
from the press.

Early Sunday morning Custis asked him to go down to the quarters to see
Uncle Ben, the butler, who had not yet resumed his duties. He had sent
an urgent message to his young master asking him to be kind enough to
call on Sunday. The message was so formal and reserved Custis knew it
was of more than usual importance.

They found the old man superintending a special breakfast of fried fish
for two little boys, neatly served at a table with spotless cloth.
Robbie and his friend, John Doyle, were eating the fish they had caught
with Uncle Ben the day before. They were as happy as kings and talked of
fish and fishing with the unction of veteran sportsmen.