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“None o’ your sa’ce！” said Rosa； “I saw you hiding something；—I know yer tricks；” and Rosa seized her arm； and tried to force her hand into her bosom； while Topsy； enraged； kicked and fought valiantly for what she considered her rights。 The clamor and confusion of the battle drew Miss Ophelia and St。 Clare both to the spot。
“She’s been stealing！” said Rosa。
“I han’t； neither！” vociferated Topsy； sobbing with passion。
“Give me that； whatever it is！” said Miss Ophelia； firmly。
Topsy hesitated； but； on a second order； pulled out of her bosom a little parcel done up in the foot of one of her own old stockings。
Miss Ophelia turned it out。 There was a small book； which had been given to Topsy by Eva； containing a single verse of Scripture； arranged for every day in the year； and in a paper the curl of hair that she had given her on that memorable day when she had taken her last farewell。
St。 Clare was a good deal affected at the sight of it； the little book had been rolled in a long strip of black crape； torn from the funeral weeds。
“What did you wrap this round the book for？” said St。 Clare； holding up the crape。
“Cause；—cause；—cause ’t was Miss Eva。 O； don’t take ’em away； please！” she said； and； sitting flat down on the floor； and putting her apron over her head； she began to sob vehemently。
It was a curious mixture of the pathetic and the ludicrous；—the little old stockings；—black crape；—text…book；—fair； soft curl；—and Topsy’s utter distress。
St。 Clare smiled； but there were tears in his eyes； as he said；
“Come； come；—don’t cry； you shall have them！” and； putting them together； he threw them into her lap； and drew Miss Ophelia with him into the parlor。
“I really think you can make something of that concern；” he said； pointing with his thumb backward over his shoulder。 “Any mind that is capable of a real sorrow is capable of good。 You must try and do something with her。”
“The child has improved greatly；” said Miss Ophelia。 “I have great hopes of her； but； Augustine；” she said； laying her hand on his arm； “one thing I want to ask； whose is this child to be？—yours or mine？”
“Why； I gave her to you； “ said Augustine。
“But not legally；—I want her to be mine legally；” said Miss Ophelia。
“Whew！ cousin；” said Augustine。 “What will the Abolition Society think？ They’ll have a day of fasting appointed for this backsliding； if you become a slaveholder！”
“O； nonsense！ I want her mine； that I may have a right to take her to the free States； and give her her liberty； that all I am trying to do be not undone。”
“O； cousin； what an awful ‘doing evil that good may come’！ I can’t encourage it。”
“I don’t want you to joke； but to reason；” said Miss Ophelia。 “There is no use in my trying to make this child a Christian child； unless I save her from all the chances and reverses of slavery； and； if you really are willing I should have her； I want you to give me a deed of gift； or some legal paper。”
“Well； well；” said St。 Clare； “I will；” and he sat down； and unfolded a newspaper to read。
“But I want it done now；” said Miss Ophelia。
“What’s your hurry？”
“Because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing in；” said Miss Ophelia。 “Come； now； here’s paper； pen； and ink； just write a paper。”
St。 Clare； like most men of his class of mind； cordially hated the present tense of action； generally； and； therefore； he was considerably annoyed by Miss Ophelia’s downrightness。
“Why； what’s the matter？” said he。 “Can’t you take my word？ One would think you had taken lessons of the Jews； coming at a fellow so！”
“I want to make sure of it；” said Miss Ophelia。 “You may die； or fail； and then Topsy be hustled off to auction； spite of all I can do。”
“Really； you are quite provident。 Well； seeing I’m in the hands of a Yankee； there is nothing for it but to concede；” and St。 Clare rapidly wrote off a deed of gift； which； as he was well versed in the forms of law； he could easily do； and signed his name to it in sprawling capitals； concluding by a tremendous flourish。
“There； isn’t that black and white； now； Miss Vermont？” he said； as he handed it to her。
“Good boy；” said Miss Ophelia； smiling。 “But must it not be witnessed？”
“O； bother！—yes。 Here；” he said； opening the door into Marie’s apartment； “Marie； Cousin wants your autograph； just put your name down here。”
“What’s this？” said Marie； as she ran over the paper。 “Ridiculous！ I thought Cousin was too pious for such horrid things；” she added； as she carelessly wrote her name； “but； if she has a fancy for that article； I am sure she’s welcome。”
“There； now； she’s yours； body and soul；” said St。 Clare； handing the paper。
“No more mine now than she was before；” Miss Ophelia。 “Nobody but God has a right to give her to me； but I can protect her now。”
“Well； she’s yours by a fiction of law； then；” said St。 Clare； as he turned back into the parlor； and sat down to his paper。
Miss Ophelia； who seldom sat much in Marie’s company； followed him into the parlor； having first carefully laid away the paper。
“Augustine；” she said； suddenly； as she sat knitting； “have you ever made any provision for your servants； in case of your death？”
“No；” said St。 Clare； as he read on。
“Then all your indulgence to them may prove a great cruelty； by and by。”
St。 Clare had often thought the same thing himself； but he answered； negligently。
“Well； I mean to make a provision； by and by。”
“When？” said Miss Ophelia。
“O； one of these days。”
“What if you should die first？”
“Cousin； what’s the matter？” said St。 Clare； laying down his paper and looking at her。 “Do you think I show symptoms of yellow fever or cholera； that you are making post mortem arrangements with such zeal？”
“‘In the midst of life we are in death；’” said Miss Ophelia。
St。 Clare rose up； and laying the paper down； carelessly； walked to the door that stood open on the verandah； to put an end to a conversation that was not agreeable to him。 Mechanically； he repeated the last word again；—“Death！”—and； as he leaned against the railings； and watched the sparkling water as it rose and fell in the fountain； and； as in a dim and dizzy haze； saw flowers and trees and vases of the courts； he repeated； again the mystic word so common in every mouth； yet of such fearful power；—“DEATH！” “Strange that there should be such a word；” he said； “and such a thing； and we ever forget it； that one should be living； warm and beautiful； full of hopes； desires and wants； one day； and the next be gone； utterly gone； and forever！”
It was a warm； golden evening； and； as he walked to the other end of the verandah； he saw Tom busily intent on his Bible； pointing； as he did so； with his finger to each sucomessive word； and whispering them to himself with an earnest air。
“Want me to read to you； Tom？” said St。 Clare； seating himself carelessly by him。
“If Mas’r pleases；” said Tom； gratefully； “Mas’r makes it so much plainer。”
St。 Clare took the book and glanced at the place； and began reading one of the passages which Tom had designated by the heavy marks around it。 It ran as follows：
“When the Son of man shall come in his glory； and all his holy angels with him； then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory： and before him shall be gathered all nations； and he shall separate them one from another； as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats。” St。 Clare read on in an animated voice； till he came to the last of the verses。
“Then shall the king say unto him on his left hand； Depart from me； ye cursed； into everlasting fire： for I was an hungered； and ye gave me no meat： I was thirsty； and ye gave me no drink： I was a stranger； an ye took me not in： naked； and ye clothed me not： I was sick； and in prison； and ye visited me not。 Then shall they answer unto Him； Lord when saw we thee an hungered； or athirst； or a stranger； or naked； or sick； or in prison； and did not minister unto thee？ Then shall he say unto them； Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these my brethren； ye did it not to me。”
St。 Clare seemed struck with this last passage； for he read it twice；—the second time slowly； and