“Comfort,” said Nell, that night, leaning her head on her hand, and looking at the old woman sideways out of one eye, as she had seen the snowbirds do when they picked up the crumbs every morning around the kitchen door, “Comfort, can’t you tell me what you were laughing about yesterday afternoon, when you were br’iling of the fish for tea?”

“Yes,” said Comfort, “I think I can.”

Nelly sat waiting to hear the expected revelation, yet none came. Comfort was busy with her pipe. She paused every now and then to puff out great misty wreaths of bluish-gray smoke, but she didn’t condescend to utter one word.

“Comfort,” said Nelly, getting impatient, “why don’t you tell me, then, Comfort?”

“Tell yer what, chile?”

“What you said you would.”

"I never said I would; I said I could. Be more petik’lar with yer ’spressions, Nelly. And ’sides that, yer hadn’t oughter say ‘br’iling fish.’ Missus don’t. Leave such words to cullu’d passons, like me."

“Well, but tell me,” persisted Nelly, smilingly, brimming with the curiosity she could not restrain. “I know it was something good, because you don’t often laugh, Comfort.”

“No,” said Comfort, “that ar’s a fact. I don’t ’prove of little bits o’ stingy laughs, every now and then. I likes one good guffaw and done with it.”

“Well,” said Nelly, “go on. Tell me about it.”

“Yer see,” said Comfort, taking her pipe from between her lips, and giving a sudden whirl to the smoke issuing from them, “Yer see, Nelly, I was laughin’ ’bout my neffy.”

"Your neffy, Comfort? What’s that?"

“Lor! do tell! Don’t yer know what a neffy is yet? I didn’t ’spect yer to know much when yer was Marm Lizy’s gal, but now, when Mrs. Brooks has adopted of yer, and sent yer to school to be edicated, we look for better things. Don’t know what a neffy is, eh?”

“No,” said Nelly, looking somewhat disturbed. “Tell me, Comfort. Is it something that grows?”

“Grows!” screamed Comfort, bursting into a laugh that certainly was not a stingy one; “Grows! Goodness! hear this yere chile! Ho, ho, ho! I—b’lieve—I shall—crack my poor ole sides! Grows! Oh my!”

"You mustn’t laugh so, Comfort," said Nelly, with dignity, “you make me feel,—well, leastways, you make me feel real bad.”

“Oh dear, dear,” mumbled the old woman in a faint voice. “That does beat all! Why, see here, Nelly,—s’pose now, I had a sister once, and that ar sister got married and had a little boy, what ought he to call me, eh?”

“Why, his Aunt Comfort, to be sure,” was the reply. “And I ought to call him neffy John, or Johnny, for short, oughtn’t I? Well, it was ’bout my neffy Johnny I was laughin’ yesterday. Now I’ll tell yer how it was, sence I’ve done laughin’ ’bout him to-day,—oh my! You see, Johnny is a slave down South, ever so far off, on a rice plantation.”

“Slave?” repeated Nelly, with growing interest; “what’s slave, Comfort?”

"Oh, somethin’ that grows," answered Comfort, chuckling. “A slave is a black man, woman, or chile that has a marster. This marse, as we call him, can sell the slave to anybody for a lot o’ money, and the poor slave, as has been a t’ilin’, strivin’ soul all his days, can say nuthin’ ag’in’ it. It’s the law, yer see.”

“Comfort,” said Nelly, “stop a minute. Do you think that is a right law?”

“No,” said Comfort, “I can’t say as I does. Some marsters are good, and some, on the contrary, are oncommon bad. Now my little neffy has a good ’un. Ever sence his poor mammy’s death, I’ve been savin’ and savin’, and t’ilin’ and t’ilin’, to buy Johnny and bring him North, ’cause I set a good deal on him. This ere good marse of his agreed to let me buy him, when he was nuffin’ but a baby; and he’s been keepin’ of him for me all this yere long time.”

"I’m glad I’m not Johnny," said Nell, earnestly; “If bein’ a slave is getting bought and sold like a cow or a dog, a slave is just what I don’t want to be. Hasn’t Johnny any relations down there, Comfort?”

The old woman shook her head. “I’m the only one of his kin in the ’varsel world.”

“Poor little fellow!” said Nelly meditating; “I don’t wonder you want to buy him. How old is he?”

“Twelve year.”

“And you’ve got enough money, Comfort?”

A bright smile beamed suddenly all over that dark face.

“Ho!” she cried, “that ar’s just what I was laughin’ at yesterday. I want only a leetle more, and ’deed, my neffy will have no marse ag’in,—only a missus, and that’ll be me, thank the Lord!”

The old colored woman tossed her apron over her head, and from the odd puffing noises that immediately began to sound from behind it, Nelly supposed she was weeping. She thought she must have been mistaken, however, the next moment, for Comfort pulled down the apron a little savagely, as though ashamed of having indulged in such a luxury as a private groan or two, and in a stern voice bade Nelly go up in her (Comfort’s) room, feel under the bolster, on the side nearest the wall, and bring down to her the foot of a stocking which she would find there.

“And don’t let the grass grow under yer feet, neither,” said Comfort, by way of a parting benediction, as the child softly closed the door. It was reopened almost immediately, and Nelly’s smiling face appeared.

“I say, Comfort.”

“Well chile, what now?”

“I’m real, real sorry for that little neffy of yours you’ve been tellin’ me about. And, Comfort, when he comes I’ll be as good to him as I can. I was thinkin’ I would knit a pair of gray, woollen stockings to have ready for him, shall I? How big is he?”

"’Bout your size," replied Comfort. “The notion of them stockings is quite nice. I’m much obleeged to yer, Nelly.”

Nelly looked delighted, and started to go up-stairs once more. In about a minute and a half, her face was peering into the kitchen again.

“Comfort, I guess I’ll knit a red binding at the top of the stockings, to look handsome, shall I?”

“Why, yes,” said Comfort, mightily pleased; “that will make ’em smart, won’t it?”

“A red yarn binding,” continued the little girl, “knit on after the stocking is toed off,—a binding full of little scallops and such like!”

“Laws, chile,” said Comfort, benignantly, “I sorter think yer might stop short of them scallops. Neffy won’t be anxious about scallops, I reckon, seein’ as how he has only wored nater’s stockings so far, with no petik’lar bindin’ at all, that I knows on. Come, now, mind yerself and run up-stairs. I can’t be wastin’ all my time, a-waitin’.”

Nelly shut the door, and went singing up-stairs, two at once, while the old woman employed her valuable time in smoking her pipe.

In a short time eager, young footsteps were heard dancing along the entry, and into the room came Nelly, looking as happy as though for her there existed no ill-natured schoolmate in all the world.

“Here it is!” she said, holding triumphantly up the foot of an old stocking, ragged at the edges, but scrupulously clean,—the same in fact, from which Comfort had once given her a small gift of money; “here it is, Comfort; but didn’t I have a powerful hunt for it! I dived under the bolster and under the mattrass,—at the foot,—at the head,—at the sides,—and then I found it on the sacking. Hear how it jingles! What fun it must be to earn money, Comfort! Do look at my hair,—if I haven’t got it full of feathers, poking among your pillows!” Sure enough, starting up all over her curls were gray and white downy particles.

“Laws sakes,” exclaimed Comfort, helping her to pick them off, “that ar hole must a broke loose ag’in in my bolster! I can sew it up every Saturday night, and sure as I’m livin’, it bursts ag’in Monday mornin’.”

"That’s ’cause your brain is too heavy; you’ve got too many thoughts in it, perhaps," laughed Martin, who entered at that moment, and began to stamp the snow from his feet on the kitchen doormat.

“O Martin,” cried Nell, “see how rich Comfort is! She has saved that fat stocking full of money, to buy her neffy.”

“Buy her neffy!” repeated Martin, unbuttoning his overcoat.

“Yes, he’s a slave, you know.”

“No,” said the boy, “I don’t know, Nelly; I never even heard of neffy before.”

"Oh, his name isn’t neffy, Martin. Oh, no, not at all," said the little girl, with an air of importance. “He is called John, and Comfort is going to buy him, and I am to begin a pair of stockings for him to-morrow.”

Comfort held up her bag half full.

“This yere is my money-box,” she said, overflowing with satisfaction.

“Box!” repeated Nell. “Why, it is not a box at all, Comfort. It’s the foot of a worn-out stocking.”

The old woman turned upon her a little grimly, “Stockin’ or no stockin’ I calls it my money-box, and that’s enough. Box it is.”

"That’s funny," said Nelly; “I don’t see much good in calling a stocking a box as long as it is a stocking.”

“Well, I does,” said Comfort, sharply; and with some of the old ill-temper she once used to vent so largely on Nell, she snatched up the bag, and giving it a toss upon a pantry shelf, slammed the door with a mighty noise.

For a little while silence descended on the group. It was an uncomfortable silence. No one in the room felt happy or at ease. Of such power is a single ill-natured expression!

Comfort was restless, because her conscience reproached her, while at the same time Nelly was experiencing secret remorse for having irritated her by thoughtless words. Perhaps Martin Wray was more distressed than either of his companions, at what had taken place. His was naturally a peaceable disposition, and he could not bear to witness scenes of discord. The sight of his pleasant face saddened, did not tend to make little Nell feel happier. She longed to have him reprove her, or exhort her, as he so often did, to better behavior; but Martin sat in his chair by the fire, sorrowful and mute.

Nothing was heard but the hissing of the burning wood on the wide hearth, and the whistling sounds and muffled roars of the wind without.

It was too much to bear this any longer. Nelly got up with a long, penitent face, and hovered rather wistfully around the chair where Comfort sat, still smoking her pipe. The old domestic had taken advantage of the fact of her eyes being half closed, to pretend that she did not see the little figure standing at her side, on account of just going off into a most delightful doze. She even went so far as to get up a gentle, extempore fit of snoring, but Nelly was not to be deceived.

“Comfort,” she said, in a mild, quiet voice.

No answer, excepting three exceedingly distinct snores.

“Comfort,” was repeated, in a louder tone.

“What!!” growled the old woman, opening her eyes so suddenly that the child started back. Comfort began to laugh, however, so Nell felt no fear of having disturbed her in reality.

“I am sorry I said that wasn’t your money-box, Comfort. I didn’t mean to contradict, or such like. It was all along o’ my contrary temper, and if you’ll forgive me, I’ll try not to act so again.”

The old colored woman appeared a little confused.

“’Deed, honey,” she said, “yer haven’t done nuthin’ wrong; it’s all me. I dunno what gits into me sometimes. Well, now, hand me that ar plaguey stocking, and I’ll let you and Martin count my money.”

Nelly smiled, looked delighted at being restored to favor, and flew to the pantry.

The bag was on too high a shelf for her to reach, however, and she had got the poker and was in the act of violently punching and hooking it down, as she best could, her eyes and cheeks bright with the exertion, when Martin—the sadness quite gone from his face—advanced to help her. Comfort took the bag from him, and with a grand flourish, emptied it on the vacant table. The flourish was a little too grand, however, and much more effective than Comfort had intended. The shining silver dollars, with which the stocking was partially filled, fell helter-skelter on the table, and many of them rolled jingling and glittering over the floor.

Nelly laughed and scrambled after them, Martin shouted and tumbled down on hands and knees to help find them, while the owner, quite dismayed, stood still and did nothing.

“’Deed, ’deed!” she said; “how could I be so keerless? But there’s thirty of ’em, and thirty I’ll find.”

Before the children knew what she was about, she seized the broom and began to sweep the rag-carpet with great nervous dashes, that had no other effect than to raise a tremendous dust.

“Stop!” cried Martin; “don’t sweep, please, Comfort; Nelly and I will find them for you. That dust just goes into our eyes and blinds us. If you are sure there were thirty, it is easy enough to search till we make up the number.”Comfort relinquished the broom at this, and began to count; as fast as the children found any of the coins they dropped them into her lap.

“Twenty-six, twenty-seven,” she said, at length; “three more, and we’ve got all the little shiners back.”

"Here’s two," cried Martin, “behind the dust-pan.”

"And here’s the thirtieth," exclaimed Nelly, “sticking out from under your shoe, Comfort! How funny!”

And so, laughing, the children saw Comfort’s money-box bulge again to its original size.

“That ar’s only my last five months’ wages. Mrs. Brooks paid me yesterday,” said the old woman, proudly, as she tied the stocking together with a piece of yellow, time-stained tape. “I’ve got three hundred jes’ like ’em in a bank in the city; and when with a little extry t’ilin’ and savin’, I git in all, three hundred and fifty, my neffy will never be a slave no more!”

Here the kind voice of Mrs. Brooks was heard calling the children into the sitting-room.

“Good-night, Comfort,” said Martin; “I wish I had thirty dollars; yet I do not envy you yours, one bit,—no, not one bit!”

“Yes,” added Nell, rising to go, “and I don’t envy either, but I wouldn’t mind owning another stocking just like that. And, Comfort, I am going to ask mother to let me set all the eggs of my white bantam hen, early in the spring; and I’ll sell the chickens and give you the money to help buy your neffy.”