QUITE a number of children were gathered in the vicinity of the pump, performing their usual antics, under the direction and leadership of a girl larger and older than the rest,—a genuine, coal-black, woolly-headed, thick-lipped young negro. This was the daughter of Venus, the cook, and her appointment of service was the kitchen. Full of fun, and nimble as an eel in every joint, her various pranks and feats of skill were perfectly amazing, and were received with boisterous applause by the rest of the group.

As she saw Tidy advancing, however, she ceased her evolutions, and, turning to the others with a comic grimace, she bade them hold off, while she held discourse with the new-comer.

"Her comes yer white nigger," she said, in a loud whisper, "and I's boun' to gaffer de las' news;" and putting on a demure face, she accosted the neatly-appareled child.

"Specs ye're a stranger in dese yer parts. What's yer name?"

"Tidy;—what's yourn?" was the ready response.

"Dey calls me France. Dey don't stop to place fandangles on to names here. Specs dey'll call YOU Ti."

"I doesn't care; I's willin'," replied Tidy, good-naturedly.

"What's de matter wid yer? Been sick?" proceeded France, with a roguish twinkle of the eye. "Specs you's had measles or 'sumption,—yer's pale as deaf; and yer hair,—laws, sakes, it'll a'most stan' alone! de kind's all done gone out of it."

"Never had much," said Tidy, laughing. "It's most straight, see;" and she pulled one of the short ringlets out with her fingers. "And I isn't sick, neither; 'tis my 'plexion."

"'Plexion!" repeated Frances, with a tone of derision; "'tis white folks has 'plexion; niggers don't hab none. Don't grow white skins in dese yer parts."

"White's as good as black, I s'pose, a'n't it?" answered Tidy, diverted by the droll manners of her new acquaintance. "I don't see no odds nohow."

"'Ta'n't 'spectable, dat's all. Brack's de fashion here on dis yer plantation. 'Tis tough, b'ars whippin's and hard knocks. Whew! Hi! Ke! Missus'll cut ye all up to slivers fust time."

"Does missus whip?"

"Reckon she does jest dat ting. Reckons you'll feel it right smart 'fore you're much older. Hi! she whips like a driver,—cuts de skin all off de knuckles in little less dan no time at all. Yer'll see; make yer curl all up."

It was not a very pleasant prospect for Tidy, to be sure; but, more amused than frightened, she went on with her inquiries.

"What does she whip ye for?"

"Laws, sake, for noffin at all; jest when she takes a notion; jest for ex'cise, like. Owes me one, now," said the girl. "I breaked de pitcher dis mornin', and, ho, ho, ho! how missus flied! I runned and 'scaped her, though."

"She'll catch ye some time."

"No, she don't, not for dat score. Specs I'll dodge till she's got suffin' else to tink about. Dat's de way dis chile fix it. Shouldn't hab no skin leff, ef I didn't. Laws, now, ye ought to seen toder day, when I's done stept on missus' toe. Didn't do it a purpose, sartain true, ef ye do laugh," said she, shaking her head at the tittering tribe at her heels. "Dat are leetle Luce pushed, and missus jest had her hand up to gib Luce an old-fashioned crack on the head wid dat big brack key of hern. Hi! didn't she fly roun', and forgot all 'bout Luce, a tryin' to hit dis nig—and dis nig scooted and runned, and when missus' hand come down wid de big key, thar warn't no nigger's head at all thar—and missus was gwine to lay it on so drefful hard, dat she falled ober hersef right down into de kitchen, and by de time she picked hersef up, bof de nigs war done gone. Ho, ho, ho! I tells ye she was mad enough ter eat 'em. 'Pears as ef sparks comed right out of dem brack eyes."

The girl's loud voice, as she grew animated in telling her exploits, and the boisterous glee of her hearers, might have drawn the mistress with whip in hand from the house, to inflict with double severity the evaded punishment of the morning, but for the timely interference of Venus, who, with her clean white apron and turbaned head, majestically emerged from the kitchen, warning the young rebel and her associates to clear the premises.

"Along wid yer, and keep yer tongue tween yer teeth, chile, or you'll cotch it."

So Frances, drawing Tidy along with her, and followed by the whole troop, turned into the lane that led down to the negro quarters, and as they saunter along, I will tell you about her.

She was a fair specimen of slave children, full of the merry humor, the love of fun and frolic peculiar to her race, with not a little admixture of art and cunning. She was wild, rough, and boisterous, one of the sort always getting into disgrace. She couldn't step without stumbling, nor hold anything in her hand without spilling. She never had on a whole frock, except when it was new, and her bare feet were seldom without a bandage. She considered herself one of the most unfortunate of creatures, because she met with so many accidents, and had, in consequence, to suffer so much punishment; and it was of no use to try to do differently, she declared, for she "couldn't help it, nohow."

I have seen just such children who were not slaves, haven't you? And I think I understand the cause of their misfortunes. Shall I give you an inkling of it? It is because they are so heedless and headlong in their ways, racing and romping about with perfect recklessness. Don't you think now that I am right, little reader, you who cried this very day, because you were always getting into trouble, and getting scolded and punished for it? You who are always tearing your frock and soiling your nice white apron, spilling ink on your copy-book, and misplacing your geography, forgetting your pencil and losing your sponge, and so getting reproof upon reproof until you are heart-sick and discouraged? I know what Jessie Smith's father told HER the other day. "You wouldn't meet with so many mishaps, Jessie, if you didn't RUSH so." Jessie tried, after that, to move round more gently and carefully, and I think she got on better.

Frances was just one of these "rushing" children, but she was good-natured, and Tidy was quite fascinated with her. It was so new to have an associate of her own age too; and so it came to pass that almost immediately they were fast friends. Now, as they strolled along in the starlight, under the great spreading pines which stood as sentinels here and there along their path, Tidy drank in eagerly all her companion said, and in a little while had gathered all the interesting points of information concerning the place and the people. Frances told her how hard and mean the master and mistress were, and how poorly the slaves fared down at the quarters. Up at the house they made out very well, she said; but not half so well as she and her mother did when they lived out east on Mr. Blackstone's plantation. Then she described the busy summer season, when hundreds of people came there to board and drink the water of the springs. Mr. Lee had built two long rows of little brick houses, she said, down by the springs, where the people lived while they were here, and there was a great dining cabin with long tables and seats, and a barbecue hall, where they had barbecues, and then danced all night long, and had gay times. And there was plenty of money going at such times, for the people had quantities of money and gave it to the slaves.

The negro quarters consisted of six log cabins, which had once been whitewashed, but now were extremely wretched in appearance, both without and within. It is customary on the plantations of the South to have the houses of the negroes a little removed, perhaps a quarter of a mile, from the family mansion. Thus, with the exception of the house servants, who must be within call, the slave portion of the family live by themselves, and generally in a most uncivilized and miserable way. In some cases their houses are quite neatly built and kept; but it was not so on Mr. Lee's estate.

In front of these old huts was a spring, the water bubbling up and running through a dilapidated, moss-covered spout, into a tub half sunk in the earth, which in the daytime served as a drinking trough for the animals, and a bathing-pool for the babies. Brushwood and logs were lying around in all directions, and here and there a fire was burning, at which the negroes were cooking their supper. Dogs and a few stray babies were roaming about, seeming lonely for want of the pigs and chickens which kept company with them all day, but had now gone to rest. Boys and girls of larger growth were rollicking and careering over the place, dancing and singing and entertaining themselves and the whole settlement with their jollities and noise.

Is it surprising, we must stop to ask, that the colored people are a degraded class, when we consider the way in which the children live from their very infancy. No work for them to do, nothing to learn, nobody to care for them,—they are just left to grow and fatten like swine, till they are in condition to be sold or to be broken in to their tasks in the field. Utterly neglected, they contract, of necessity, lazy and vicious habits, and it is no wonder they have to be whipped and broken in to work as animals to the yoke or harness; and no wonder that under such treatment for successive generations, the race should become so reduced in mental and moral ability, as to be thought by many incapable of ever reclaiming a position among the enlightened nations of the earth. Oh, what a weight of guilt have the people of our country incurred in allowing four millions of those poor people to be so trodden down in the very midst of us!

When the children reached home again they found Mammy Grace's cabin quite full of men and women, shouting, singing, and talking in a way quite unintelligible to our little stranger. After she had dropped upon her cot for the night, she lifted her head and ventured to ask what those people had been about.

"Don' ye know, chile? We's had a praisin'-meetin'. We has 'em ebery week, one week it's here, and one week it's ober to General Doolittle's, ober de hill yonder. Ef ye's a good chile, honey, ye shall go wid yer old mammy some time, ye shall."

"What do you do?" asked Tidy.

"We praises, chile,—praises de Lord, and den we prays too."

"What's that?"

"Laws, chile, ye don't know noffin. Whar's ye been fotched up all yer days? Why, when we wants any ting we can't git oursef, nohow, we ask de Lord to gib it to us—dat's what it is."

That first day and evening in Tidy's new home was a memorable day in her experience. It seemed as if she had been lifted up two or three degrees in existence, so much had she heard and learned. She had enough to think about as she lay down to rest, for the first time away from Miss Matilda's sheltering presence.