It was Sunday afternoon. St. Clare was stretched on a bamboo lounge inthe verandah, solacing himself with a cigar. Marie lay reclined on asofa, opposite the window opening on the verandah, closely secluded,under an awning of transparent gauze, from the outrages of themosquitos, and languidly holding in her hand an elegantly boundprayer-book. She was holding it because it was Sunday, and she imaginedshe had been reading it,--though, in fact, she had been only taking asuccession of short naps, with it open in her hand.

Miss Ophelia, who, after some rummaging, had hunted up a small Methodistmeeting within riding distance, had gone out, with Tom as driver, toattend it; and Eva had accompanied them.

"I say, Augustine," said Marie after dozing a while, "I must send to thecity after my old Doctor Posey; I'm sure I've got the complaint of theheart."

"Well; why need you send for him? This doctor that attends Eva seemsskilful."

"I would not trust him in a critical case," said Marie; "and I thinkI may say mine is becoming so! I've been thinking of it, these twoor three nights past; I have such distressing pains, and such strangefeelings."

"O, Marie, you are blue; I don't believe it's heart complaint."

"I dare say _you_ don't," said Marie; "I was prepared to expect _that_.You can be alarmed enough, if Eva coughs, or has the least thing thematter with her; but you never think of me."

"If it's particularly agreeable to you to have heart disease, why, I'lltry and maintain you have it," said St. Clare; "I didn't know it was."

"Well, I only hope you won't be sorry for this, when it's too late!"said Marie; "but, believe it or not, my distress about Eva, and theexertions I have made with that dear child, have developed what I havelong suspected."

What the _exertions_ were which Marie referred to, it would have beendifficult to state. St. Clare quietly made this commentary to himself,and went on smoking, like a hard-hearted wretch of a man as he was,till a carriage drove up before the verandah, and Eva and Miss Opheliaalighted.

Miss Ophelia marched straight to her own chamber, to put away her bonnetand shawl, as was always her manner, before she spoke a word on anysubject; while Eva came, at St. Clare's call, and was sitting on hisknee, giving him an account of the services they had heard.

They soon heard loud exclamations from Miss Ophelia's room, which,like the one in which they were sitting, opened on to the verandah andviolent reproof addressed to somebody.

"What new witchcraft has Tops been brewing?" asked St. Clare. "Thatcommotion is of her raising, I'll be bound!"

And, in a moment after, Miss Ophelia, in high indignation, came draggingthe culprit along.

"Come out here, now!" she said. "I _will_ tell your master!"

"What's the case now?" asked Augustine.

"The case is, that I cannot be plagued with this child, any longer! It'spast all bearing; flesh and blood cannot endure it! Here, I locked herup, and gave her a hymn to study; and what does she do, but spyout where I put my key, and has gone to my bureau, and got abonnet-trimming, and cut it all to pieces to make dolls' jackets! I neversaw anything like it, in my life!"

"I told you, Cousin," said Marie, "that you'd find out that thesecreatures can't be brought up without severity. If I had _my_ way, now,"she said, looking reproachfully at St. Clare, "I'd send that child out,and have her thoroughly whipped; I'd have her whipped till she couldn'tstand!"

"I don't doubt it," said St. Clare. "Tell me of the lovely rule ofwoman! I never saw above a dozen women that wouldn't half kill a horse,or a servant, either, if they had their own way with them!--let alone aman."

"There is no use in this shilly-shally way of yours, St. Clare!" saidMarie. "Cousin is a woman of sense, and she sees it now, as plain as Ido."

Miss Ophelia had just the capability of indignation that belongs to thethorough-paced housekeeper, and this had been pretty actively rousedby the artifice and wastefulness of the child; in fact, many of mylady readers must own that they should have felt just so in hercircumstances; but Marie's words went beyond her, and she felt lessheat.

"I wouldn't have the child treated so, for the world," she said; "but,I am sure, Augustine, I don't know what to do. I've taught and taught;I've talked till I'm tired; I've whipped her; I've punished her in everyway I can think of, and she's just what she was at first."

"Come here, Tops, you monkey!" said St. Clare, calling the child up tohim.

Topsy came up; her round, hard eyes glittering and blinking with amixture of apprehensiveness and their usual odd drollery.

"What makes you behave so?" said St. Clare, who could not help beingamused with the child's expression.

"Spects it's my wicked heart," said Topsy, demurely; "Miss Feely saysso."

"Don't you see how much Miss Ophelia has done for you? She says she hasdone everything she can think of."

"Lor, yes, Mas'r! old Missis used to say so, too. She whipped me a heapharder, and used to pull my har, and knock my head agin the door; butit didn't do me no good! I spects, if they 's to pull every spire o' harout o' my head, it wouldn't do no good, neither,--I 's so wicked! Laws!I 's nothin but a nigger, no ways!"

"Well, I shall have to give her up," said Miss Ophelia; "I can't havethat trouble any longer."

"Well, I'd just like to ask one question," said St. Clare.

"What is it?"

"Why, if your Gospel is not strong enough to save one heathen child,that you can have at home here, all to yourself, what's the use ofsending one or two poor missionaries off with it among thousands of justsuch? I suppose this child is about a fair sample of what thousands ofyour heathen are."

Miss Ophelia did not make an immediate answer; and Eva, who had stood asilent spectator of the scene thus far, made a silent sign to Topsy tofollow her. There was a little glass-room at the corner of the verandah,which St. Clare used as a sort of reading-room; and Eva and Topsydisappeared into this place.

"What's Eva going about, now?" said St. Clare; "I mean to see."

And, advancing on tiptoe, he lifted up a curtain that covered theglass-door, and looked in. In a moment, laying his finger on his lips,he made a silent gesture to Miss Ophelia to come and look. There sat thetwo children on the floor, with their side faces towards them. Topsy,with her usual air of careless drollery and unconcern; but, opposite toher, Eva, her whole face fervent with feeling, and tears in her largeeyes.

"What does make you so bad, Topsy? Why won't you try and be good? Don'tyou love _anybody_, Topsy?"

"Donno nothing 'bout love; I loves candy and sich, that's all," saidTopsy.

"But you love your father and mother?"

"Never had none, ye know. I telled ye that, Miss Eva."

"O, I know," said Eva, sadly; "but hadn't you any brother, or sister, oraunt, or--"

"No, none on 'em,--never had nothing nor nobody."

"But, Topsy, if you'd only try to be good, you might--"

"Couldn't never be nothin' but a nigger, if I was ever so good," saidTopsy. "If I could be skinned, and come white, I'd try then."

"But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. Miss Ophelia wouldlove you, if you were good."

Topsy gave the short, blunt laugh that was her common mode of expressingincredulity.

"Don't you think so?" said Eva.

"No; she can't bar me, 'cause I'm a nigger!--she'd 's soon have atoad touch her! There can't nobody love niggers, and niggers can't donothin'! _I_ don't care," said Topsy, beginning to whistle.

"O, Topsy, poor child, _I_ love you!" said Eva, with a sudden burst offeeling, and laying her little thin, white hand on Topsy's shoulder;"I love you, because you haven't had any father, or mother, orfriends;--because you've been a poor, abused child! I love you, and Iwant you to be good. I am very unwell, Topsy, and I think I shan't livea great while; and it really grieves me, to have you be so naughty. Iwish you would try to be good, for my sake;--it's only a little while Ishall be with you."

The round, keen eyes of the black child were overcast withtears;--large, bright drops rolled heavily down, one by one, and fell onthe little white hand. Yes, in that moment, a ray of real belief, a rayof heavenly love, had penetrated the darkness of her heathen soul! Shelaid her head down between her knees, and wept and sobbed,--while thebeautiful child, bending over her, looked like the picture of somebright angel stooping to reclaim a sinner.

"Poor Topsy!" said Eva, "don't you know that Jesus loves all alike? Heis just as willing to love you, as me. He loves you just as I do,--onlymore, because he is better. He will help you to be good; and you can goto Heaven at last, and be an angel forever, just as much as if youwere white. Only think of it, Topsy!--_you_ can be one of those spiritsbright, Uncle Tom sings about."

"O, dear Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva!" said the child; "I will try, I willtry; I never did care nothin' about it before."

St. Clare, at this instant, dropped the curtain. "It puts me in mind ofmother," he said to Miss Ophelia. "It is true what she told me; if wewant to give sight to the blind, we must be willing to do as Christdid,--call them to us, and _put our hands on them_."

"I've always had a prejudice against negroes," said Miss Ophelia, "andit's a fact, I never could bear to have that child touch me; but, Idon't think she knew it."

"Trust any child to find that out," said St. Clare; "there's no keepingit from them. But I believe that all the trying in the world to benefita child, and all the substantial favors you can do them, will neverexcite one emotion of gratitude, while that feeling of repugnanceremains in the heart;--it's a queer kind of a fact,--but so it is."

"I don't know how I can help it," said Miss Ophelia; "they _are_disagreeable to me,--this child in particular,--how can I help feelingso?"

"Eva does, it seems."

"Well, she's so loving! After all, though, she's no more thanChrist-like," said Miss Ophelia; "I wish I were like her. She mightteach me a lesson."

"It wouldn't be the first time a little child had been used to instructan old disciple, if it _were_ so," said St. Clare.