We have now But a small portion of what men call time, To hold communion.
SPRING opened, and James, instead of rallying, as was hoped, grew worse daily. Aunt Abby and Frado were the constant allies of Susan.
Mrs. Bellmont dared not lift him. She was not "strong enough," she said.
It was very offensive to Mrs. B. to have Nab about James so much. She had thrown out many a hint to detain her from so often visiting the sick-room; but Aunt Abby was too well accustomed to her ways to mind them. After various unsuccessful efforts, she resorted to the following expedient. As she heard her cross the entry below, to ascend the stairs, she slipped out and held the latch of the door which led into the upper entry.
"James does not want to see you, or any one else," she said.
Aunt Abby hesitated, and returned slowly to her own room; wondering if it were really James' wish not to see her. She did not ven-ture again that day, but still felt disturbed and anxious about him. She inquired of Frado, and learned that he was no worse. She asked her if James did not wish her to come and see him; what could it mean?
Quite late next morning, Susan came to see what had become of her aunt.
"Your mother said James did not wish to see me, and I was afraid I tired him."
"Why, aunt, that is a mistake, I KNOW. What could mother mean?" asked Susan.
The next time she went to the sitting-room she asked her mother,--
"Why does not Aunt Abby visit James as she has done? Where is she?"
"At home. I hope that she will stay there," was the answer.
"I should think she would come in and see James," continued Susan.
"I told her he did not want to see her, and to stay out. You need make no stir about it; remem-ber:" she added, with one of her fiery glances.
Susan kept silence. It was a day or two before James spoke of her absence. The family were at dinner, and Frado was watching beside him. He inquired the cause of her absence, and SHE told him all. After the family returned he sent his wife for her. When she entered, he took her hand, and said, "Come to me often, Aunt. Come any time,--I am always glad to see you. I have but a little longer to be with you,--come often, Aunt. Now please help lift me up, and see if I can rest a little."
Frado was called in, and Susan and Mrs. B. all attempted; Mrs. B. was too weak; she did not feel able to lift so much. So the three suc-ceeded in relieving the sufferer.
Frado returned to her work. Mrs. B. fol-lowed. Seizing Frado, she said she would "cure her of tale-bearing," and, placing the wedge of wood between her teeth, she beat her cruelly with the raw-hide. Aunt Abby heard the blows, and came to see if she could hinder them.
Surprised at her sudden appearance, Mrs. B. suddenly stopped, but forbade her removing the wood till she gave her permission, and com-manded Nab to go home.
She was thus tortured when Mr. Bellmont came in, and, making inquiries which she did not, because she could not, answer, approached her; and seeing her situation, quickly removed the instrument of torture, and sought his wife.
Their conversation we will omit; suffice it to say, a storm raged which required many days to exhaust its strength.
Frado was becoming seriously ill. She had no relish for food, and was constantly over-worked, and then she had such solicitude about the future. She wished to pray for pardon.
She did try to pray. Her mistress had told her it would "do no good for her to attempt prayer; prayer was for whites, not for blacks. If she minded her mistress, and did what she com-manded, it was all that was required of her."
This did not satisfy her, or appease her long-ings. She knew her instructions did not har-monize with those of the man of God or Aunt Abby's. She resolved to persevere. She said nothing on the subject, unless asked. It was evident to all her mind was deeply exercised.
James longed to speak with her alone on the subject. An opportunity presented soon, while the family were at tea. It was usual to sum-mon Aunt Abby to keep company with her, as his death was expected hourly.
As she took her accustomed seat, he asked, "Are you afraid to stay with me alone, Frado?"
"No," she replied, and stepped to the window to conceal her emotion.
"Come here, and sit by me; I wish to talk with you."
She approached him, and, taking her hand, he remarked:
"How poor you are, Frado! I want to tell you that I fear I shall never be able to talk with you again. It is the last time, perhaps, I shall EVER talk with you. You are old enough to remember my dying words and profit by them.
I have been sick a long time; I shall die pretty soon. My Heavenly Father is calling me home.
Had it been his will to let me live I should take you to live with me; but, as it is, I shall go and leave you. But, Frado, if you will be a good girl, and love and serve God, it will be but a short time before we are in a HEAVENLY home to-gether. There will never be any sickness or sorrow there."
Frado, overcome with grief, sobbed, and buried her face in his pillow. She expected he would die; but to hear him speak of his departure him-self was unexpected.
"Bid me good bye, Frado."
She kissed him, and sank on her knees by his bedside; his hand rested on her head; his eyes were closed; his lips moved in prayer for this disconsolate child.
His wife entered, and interpreting the scene, gave him some restoratives, and withdrew for a short time.
