Uncle Tom's Cabin, Young Folks' Edition

She was quite black. Her round, shining eyes glittered like glass beads. Her wooly hair was plaited into little tails which stuck out in all directions. Her clothes were dirty and ragged. Miss Ophelia thought she had never seen such a dreadful little girl in all her life.

'Cousin, what in the world have you brought that thing here for?' she asked, in dismay.

'For you to teach, to be sure, and train in the way she should go,' said Mr. St. Clare, laughing. 'Topsy,' he went on, 'this is your new mistress. See, now, that you behave yourself.'

'Yes, mas'r,' said Topsy gravely, but her eyes had a wicked twinkle in them.

'You're going to be good, Topsy, you understand?' said Mr. St. Clare.

'Oh yes, mas'r' said Topsy again, meekly folding her hands, but with another twinkle in her eyes.

'Now cousin, what is this for? Your house is full of these little plagues as it is. I get up in the morning and find one asleep behind the door; see one black head poking out from under the table; another lying on the mat. They tumble over the kitchen floor, so that a body can't put their foot down without treading on them. What on earth did you want to bring this one for?'

'For you to teach, didn't I tell you?'

'I don't want her, I'm sure. I have more to do with them now than I want.'

'Well the fact is, cousin,' said Mr. St. Clare, drawing her aside, 'she belonged to some people who were dreadfully cruel and beat her. I couldn't bear to hear her screaming every day, so I bought her. I will give her to you. Do try and make something of her.'

'Well, I'll do what I can,' said Miss Ophelia. 'She is fearfully dirty, and half naked.'

'Well, take her downstairs, and tell somebody to clean her up, and give her some decent clothes.'

Getting Topsy clean was a very long business. But at last it was done.

Then, sitting down before her, Miss Ophelia began to question her.

'How old are you, Topsy?'

'Dunno, missis,' said she, grinning like an ugly little black doll.

'Don't know how old you are! Did nobody ever tell you? Who was your mother?'

'Never had none,' said Topsy, with another grin.

'Never had any mother! What do you mean? Where were you born?'

'Never was born.'

'You mustn't answer me like that, child,' said Miss Ophelia sternly. 'I am not playing with you. Tell me where you were born, and who your father and mother were.'

'Never was born,' said Topsy again very decidedly. 'Never had no father, nor mother, nor nothin!'

Miss Ophelia hardly knew what to make of her. 'How long have you lived with your master and mistress, then?' she asked.

'Dunno, missis.'

'Is it a year, or more, or less?'

'Dunno, missis.'

'Have you ever heard anything about God, Topsy?' asked Miss Ophelia next.

Topsy looked puzzled, but kept on grinning.

'Do you know who made you?'

'Nobody as I knows on,' replied Topsy, with a laugh. 'Spect I grow'd. Don't think nobody ever made me.'

'Do you know how to sew?' asked Miss Ophelia, quite shocked.

'No, missis.'

'What can you do? What did you do for your master and mistress?'

'Fetch water, and wash dishes, and clean knives, and wait on folks.'

'Well, now, Topsy, I'm going to show you just how my bed is to be made. I am very particular about my bed. You must learn exactly how to do it.'

'Yes, missis,' said Topsy, with a deep sigh and a face of woeful earnestness.

'Now, Topsy, look here. This is the hem of the sheet. This is the right side of the sheet. This is the wrong. Will you remember?'

'Yes, missis,' said Topsy with another sigh.

'Well, now, the under-sheet you must bring over the bolster—so, and tuck it right down under the mattress nice and smooth—so. Do you see?'

'Yes, missis.'

'But the upper sheet,' said Miss Ophelia, 'must be brought down in this way, and tucked under, firm and smooth, at the foot—so, the narrow hem at the foot.'

'Yes, missis,' said Topsy as before. But while Miss Ophelia was bending over the bed she had quickly seized a pair of gloves and a ribbon, which were lying on the dressing-table, and slipped them up her sleeves. When Miss Ophelia looked up again, the naughty little girl was standing with meekly-folded hand as before.

'Now, Topsy, let me see you do this,' said Miss Ophelia, pulling the clothes off again and seating herself.

Topsy, looking very earnest, did it all just as she had been shown. She did it so quickly and well that Miss Ophelia was very pleased. But, alas! as she was finishing, an end of ribbon came dangling out of her sleeve.

'What is this?' said Miss Ophelia, seizing it. 'You naughty, wicked child—you have been stealing this.'

The ribbon was pulled out of Topsy's own sleeve. Yet she did not seem a bit ashamed. She only looked at it with an air of surprise and innocence.

'Why, that's Miss Feely's ribbon, an't it? How could it a got into my sleeve?'

'Topsy, you naughty girl, don't tell me a lie. You stole that ribbon,'

'Missis, I declare I didn't. Never seed it till dis blessed minnit.'

'Topsy,' said Miss Ophelia, 'don't you know it is wicked to tell lies?'

'I never tells no lies, Miss Feely,' said Topsy. 'It's jist the truth I've been, tellin' now. It an't nothin' else.'

'Topsy, I shall have to whip you, if you tell lies so.'

'Laws, missis, if you whip's all day, couldn't say no other way,' said Topsy, beginning to cry. 'I never seed dat ribbon. It must a caught in my sleeve. Miss Feely must'a left it on the bed, and it got caught in the clothes, and so got in my sleeve.'

Miss Ophelia was so angry at such a barefaced lie that she caught Topsy and shook her. 'Don't tell me that again,' she said.

The shake brought the gloves on the floor from the other sleeve.

'There,' said Miss Ophelia, 'will you tell me now you didn't steal the ribbon?'

Topsy now confessed to stealing the gloves. But she, still said she had not taken the ribbon.

'Now, Topsy', said Miss Ophelia kindly, 'if you will confess all about it I won't whip you this time.'

So Topsy confessed to having stolen both the ribbon and the gloves. She said she was very, very sorry, and would never do it again.

'Well, now, tell me,' said Miss Ophelia, 'have you taken anything else since you have been in the house? If you confess I won't whip you.'

'Laws, missis, I took Miss Eva's red thing she wears on her neck.'

'You did, you naughty child! Well, what else?'

'I took Rosa's ear-rings—them red ones.'

'Go and bring them to me this minute—both of them.'

'Laws, missis, I can't—they's burnt up.'

'Burnt up? What a story! Go and get them, or I shall whip you.'

Topsy began to cry and groan, and declare that she could not. 'They's burnt up, they is.'

'What did you burn them up for?' asked Miss Ophelia.

'Cause I's wicked, I is. I's mighty wicked, anyhow. I can't help it.'

Just at this minute Eva came into the room wearing her coral necklace.

'Why, Eva, where did you get your necklace?' said Miss Ophelia.

'Get it? Why, I have had it on all day,' answered Eva, rather surprised. 'And what is funny, aunty, I had it on all night too. I forgot to take it off when I went to bed.'

Miss Ophelia looked perfectly astonished. She was more astonished still when, next minute, Rosa, who was one of the housemaids, came in with a basket of clean clothes, wearing her coral ear-rings as usual.

I'm sure I don't know what to do with such a child,' she said, in despair. 'What in the world made you tell me you took those things, Topsy?'

'Why, missis said I must 'fess. I couldn't think of nothing else to 'fess,' said Topsy, wiping her eyes.

'But of course, I didn't want you to confess things you didn't do,' said Miss Ophelia. 'That is telling a lie just as much as the other.'

'Laws, now, is it?' said Topsy, looking surprised and innocent.

'Poor Topsy,' said Eva, 'why need you steal? You are going to be taken good care of now. I am sure I would rather give you anything of mine than have you steal it.'

Topsy had never been spoken to so kindly and gently in all her life. For a minute she looked as if she were going to cry. The next she was grinning as usual in her ugly way.

What was to be done with Topsy? Miss Ophelia was quite puzzled. She shut her up in a dark room till she could think about it.

'I don't see,' she said to Mr. St. Clare, 'how I am going to manage that child without whipping her.'

'Well, whip her, then.'

'I never heard of bringing up children without it,' said Miss Ophelia.

'Oh, well, do as you think best. Only, I have seen this child beaten with a poker, knocked down with the shovel or tongs, or anything that came handy. So I don't think your beatings will have much effect.'

'What is to be done with her, then?' said Miss Ophelia. 'I never saw such a child as this.'

But Mr. St. Clare could not answer her question. So Miss Ophelia had to go on, as best she could, trying to make Topsy a good girl.

She taught her to read and to sew. Topsy liked reading, and learned her letters like magic. But she could not bear sewing. So she broke her needles or threw them away. She tangled, broke, and dirtied her cotton and hid her reels. Miss Ophelia felt sure all these things could not be accidents. Yet she could never catch Topsy doing them.

In a very few days Topsy had learned how to do Miss Ophelia's room perfectly, for she was very quick and clever. But if Miss Ophelia ever left her to do it by herself there was sure to be dreadful confusion.

Instead of making the bed, she would amuse herself with pulling off the pillow-cases. Then she would butt her woolly head among the pillows, until it was covered with feathers sticking out in all directions. She would climb the bedpost, and hang head downwards from the top; wave the sheets and covers all over the room; dress the bolster up in Miss Ophelia's nightgown and act scenes with it, singing, whistling, and making faces at herself in the looking-glass all the time.

'Topsy,' Miss Ophelia would say, when her patience was at an end, 'what makes you behave so badly?'

'Dunno, missis—I'spects' cause I's so wicked.'

'I don't know what I shall do with you, Topsy.'

'Laws, missis, you must whip me. My old missis always did. I an't used to workin' unless I gets whipped.'

So Miss Ophelia tried it. Topsy would scream and groan and implore. But half an hour later she would be sitting among the other little niggers belonging to the house, laughing about it. 'Miss Feely whip!' she would say, 'she can't do it nohow.'

'Law, you niggers,' she would go on, 'does you know you's all sinners? Well, you is; everybody is. White folks is sinners too—Miss Feely says so. But I 'spects niggers is the biggest ones. But ye an't any of ye up to me. I's so awful wicked, there can't nobody do nothin' with me. I 'spects I's the wickedest crittur in the world.' Then she would turn a somersault, and come up bright and smiling, evidently quite pleased with herself.

CHAPTER XV

EVA AND TOPSY

Two or three years passed. Uncle Tom was still with Mr. St. Clare, far away from his home. He was not really unhappy. But always in his heart was the aching longing to see his dear ones again.

Now he began to have a new sorrow. He loved his little mistress Eva very tenderly, and she was ill.

He saw that she was growing white and thin. She no longer ran and played in the garden for hours together as she used to do. She was always tired now.

Miss Ophelia noticed it too, and tried to make Mr. St. Clare see it. But he would not. He loved his little Eva so much, that he did not want to believe that anything could be the matter with her.

Mrs. St. Clare never thought that any one, except herself, could be ill. So Eva grew daily thinner and weaker, and Uncle Tom and Aunt Ophelia more and more sad and anxious.

But at last she became so unwell, that even Mr. St. Clare had to own that something was wrong, and the doctor was sent for.

In a week or two she was very much better. Once more she ran about playing and laughing, and her father was delighted. Only Miss Ophelia and the doctor sighed and shook their heads. And little Eva herself knew; but she was not troubled. She knew she was going to God.

'Papa' she said one day, 'there are some things I want to say to you. I want to say them now while I am able.'

She seated herself on his knee, and laid her head on his shoulder.

'It is all no use, papa, to keep it to myself any longer. The time is coming when I am going to leave you. I am going, never to come back', and Eva sobbed.

'Eva, darling, don't say such things; you are better you know.'

'No, papa, I am not any better. I know it quite well, and I am going soon.'

'And I want to go,' she went on, 'only I don't want to leave you—it almost breaks my heart.'

'Don't, Eva, don't talk so. What makes you so sad?'

'I feel sad for our poor people. I wish, papa, they were all free. Isn't there any way to have all slaves made free?'

'That is a difficult question, dearest. There is no doubt that this way is a very bad one. A great many people think so. I do myself. I wish there was not a slave in the land. But then, I don't know what is to be done about it.'

'Papa, you are such a good man, and so noble and kind. Couldn't you go all around and try and persuade people to do right about this? When I am dead, papa, then you will think of me, and do it for my sake.'

'When you are dead, Eva! Oh, child, don't talk to me so.'

'Promise me at least, father, that Tom shall have his freedom, as soon as I am gone.'

'Yes, dear, I will do anything you wish. Only don't talk so.'

Miss Ophelia and Eva had been to church together. Miss Ophelia had gone to her room to take off her bonnet, while Eva talked to her father.

Suddenly Mr. St. Clare and his little girl heard a great noise coming from Miss Ophelia's room. A minute later she appeared, dragging Topsy behind her.

'Come out here' she was saying. 'I will tell your master.'

'What is the matter now?' asked Mr. St. Clare.

'The matter is that I cannot be plagued with this child any longer' said Miss Ophelia. 'It is past all bearing. Here, I locked her up, and gave her a hymn to learn. What does she do, but spy out where I put my key. She has gone to my wardrobe, taken a bonnet-trimming, and cut it all to pieces to make dolls' jackets! I never saw anything like it in my life.'

'I don't know what to do' she went on; 'I have taught and taught. I have talked till I'm tired. I've whipped her. I've punished her in every way I can think of, and still she is as naughty as she was at first.'

'Come here, Topsy, you monkey,' said Mr. St. Clare.

Topsy came, her hard, round eyes glittering and blinking, half in fear, half in mischief.

'What makes you behave so?' said Mr. St. Clare, who could not help being amused at her funny expression.

'Spects it's my wicked heart; Miss Feely says so.'

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

'Lor', yes, mas'r! Old missis used to say so, too. She whipped me a heap harder, and used to pull my hair and knock my head agin the door. But it didn't do me no good. I 'spect if they is to pull every hair out o' my head it wouldn't do no good neither. I's so wicked. Laws! I's nothin' but a nigger noways.'

'I shall have to give her up,' said Miss Ophelia. 'I can't have that trouble any longer.'

Eva had stood silent, listening. Now she took Topsy by the hand, and led her into a little room close by.

'What makes you so naughty, Topsy?' she said, with tears in her eyes. 'Why don't you try to be good? Don't you love anybody, Topsy?'

'Dunno nothin' 'bout love. I love candy, that's all.'

'But you love your father and mother?'

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

'Oh, I forgot,' said Eva sadly. 'But hadn't you any brother, or sister or aunt, or—'

'No, none on 'em. Never had nothin' nor nobody.'

'But, Topsy, if you would only try to be good you might—'

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

'But people can love you, if you are black, Topsy. Miss Ophelia would love you if you were good.'

Topsy laughed scornfully.

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

'No. She can't bear me, 'cause I'm a nigger. She'd as soon have a toad touch her. There can't nobody love niggers, and niggers can't do nothin'. I don't care,' and Topsy began whistling to show that she didn't.

'Oh, Topsy! I love you,' said Eva, laying her little, thin hand on Topsy's shoulder. 'I love you, because you haven't had any mother, or father, or friends; because you have been a poor, ill-used child. I love you, and I want you to be good. It makes me sorry to have you so naughty. I wish you would try to be good for my sake, because I'm going to die soon. I shan't be here very long.'

Topsy's round, bright eyes grew suddenly dim with tears. She did believe at last that it was possible for some one to love her. She laid her head down between her knees and wept and sobbed.

'Poor Topsy,' said Eva gently.

'Oh, Miss Eva, dear Miss Eva,' cried the poor little black child, 'I will try, I will try. I never did care nothin' about it before.'

CHAPTER XVI

EVA'S LAST GOOD-BYE

It soon became quite plain to everybody that Eva was very ill indeed. She never ran about and played now, but spent most of the day lying on the sofa in her own pretty room.

Every one loved her, and tried to do things for her. Even naughty little Topsy used to bring her flowers, and try to be good for her sake.

Uncle Tom was a great deal in Eva's room. She used to get very restless, and then she liked to be carried about. He was so big and strong that he could do it very easily. He would walk about with her under the orange-trees in the garden, or sitting down on some of their old seats, would sing their favorite hymns.

He loved to do it, and could not bear to be long away from his little mistress. He gave up sleeping in his bed, and lay all night on the mat outside her door.

One day Eva made her aunt cut off a lot of her beautiful hair. Then she called all the slaves together, said good-bye to them, and gave them each a curl of her hair as a keepsake. They all cried very much, and said they would never forget her, and would try to be good for her sake.

A few nights later Miss Ophelia came quickly to Tom, as he lay on the mat outside Eva's door. 'Go, Tom,' she said, 'go as fast as you can for the doctor.'

Tom ran. But in the morning little Eva lay on her bed, cold and white, with closed eyes and folded hands.

She had gone to God.

Mr. St. Clare was very, very unhappy for a long time after Eva died. He had loved her so much, that now his life seemed quite empty without her.

He did not forget his promise to her about Tom. He went to his lawyer, and told him to begin writing out the papers that would make Tom free. It took some time to make a slave free.

'Well, Tom,' said Mr. St. Clare the day after he had spoken to his Lawyer, 'I'm going to make a free man of you. So have your trunk packed and get ready to set out for home.'

Joy shone in Uncle Tom's face. 'Bless the Lord,' he said, raising his hands to heaven.

Mr. St. Clare felt rather hurt. He did not like Tom to be so glad to leave him.

'You haven't had such a very bad time here that you need be in such rapture, Tom,' he said.

'No, no, mas'r! tan't that. It's bein' a free man! That's what I'm joyin' for.'

'Why, Tom, don't you think that you are really better off as you are?'

'No, indeed, Mas'r St. Clare,' said Tom, very decidedly; 'no, indeed.'

'But, Tom, you couldn't possibly have earned by your work such clothes and such nice, comfortable rooms and good food as I have given you.'

'I knows all that, Mas'r St. Clare. Mas'r has been too good. But, mas'r, I'd rather have poor clothes, poor house, poor everything, and have 'em mine than have the best, and have 'em any man's else. I had so, mas'r. I thinks it's nature, mas'r.'

'I suppose so, Tom. You will be going off and leaving me, in a month or two,' he said, rather discontentedly. 'Though why you shouldn't, I don't know,' he added, in a gayer voice.

'Not while mas'r is in trouble,' said Tom. 'I'll stay with mas'r as long as he wants me—so as I can be of any use.'

'Not while I am in trouble, Tom?' said Mr. St. Clare, looking sadly out of the window. 'And when will my trouble be over?' Then half-smiling he turned from the window, and laid his hand on Tom's shoulder. 'Ah, Tom, you soft, silly boy,' he said. 'I won't keep you. Go home to your wife and children, and give them all my love.'

'Cousin,' said Miss Ophelia, coming into the room, 'I want to speak to you about Topsy.'

'What has she been doing now?'

'Nothing; she is a much better girl than she used to be. But I want to ask you, whose is she—yours or mine?'

'Why yours, of course; I gave her to you,' said Mr. St. Clare.

'But not by law. There is no use my trying to make this child a Christian, unless I can be quite sure that she will not be sold as a slave again. If you are really willing I should have her, I want you to give me a paper saying she is mine.'

'But you think it is wicked to keep slaves. Now you want to have one of your own. Oh! shocking, cousin,' said Mr. St. Clare, who loved to tease.

'Nonsense! I only want to have her, so that I can set her free.'

'Very well,' said Mr. St. Clare, 'I will write the paper for you.' Then he sat down and began to read.

'But I want it done now,' said Miss Ophelia.

'Why are you in such a hurry?'

'Because now is the only time there ever is to do a thing in,' said Miss Ophelia. 'want to make sure of it. You may die or lose all your money. Then Topsy would be taken away and sold, in spite of anything I could say.'

Mr. St. Clare hated being made to do things when he didn't want to. However, after teasing his cousin a little more, he wrote out the paper, and Topsy belonged to Miss Ophelia. That evening Mr. St. Clare went out for a ride.

Tom saw him go, and asked if he should come too. 'No, my boy,' said Mr. St. Clare, 'I shall be back in an hour.'

Tom sat down on the verandah to wait till his master came home. While he waited, he fell asleep.

Presently he was awakened by loud knocking, and the sound of voices at the gate.

He ran to open it.

Several men were there carrying a load. It was Mr. St. Clare. He had been hurt in an accident, and was dying.

Very gently they laid him on a sofa. Nothing could be done. In a short time he had gone to join his little Eva.

CHAPTER XVII

UNCLE TOM'S NEW MASTER

There had been great grief in the house when Eva died. Now there was not only sorrow, but gloom and fear.

The kind master was dead, and the poor slaves asked themselves in despair what would happen to them now.

They were not long left in doubt. One morning Mrs. St. Clare told them that they were all to be sold. She was going back to her father's house to live, and would not want them any more.

Poor Uncle Tom! The news was a dreadful blow to him. For a few days he had been so happy in the thought of going home. Once more, after all these years, he thought he would see his dear wife and little children. Now, at one stroke, he had lost both his kind master and his hope of freedom.

Instead of going home, he was to be sent farther away than ever from his dear ones. He could not bear it. He tried to say, "Thy will be done", but bitter tears almost choked the words.