After Iola had left the settlement, accompanied by Robert as far as the town, it was a pleasant satisfaction for the two old friends to settle themselves down, and talk of times past, departed friends, and long-forgotten scenes.

“What,” said Mrs. Johnson, as we shall call Robert’s mother, “hab become ob Miss Nancy’s husband? Is he still a libin’?”

“Oh, he drunk hisself to death,” responded Aunt Linda.

“He used ter be mighty handsome.”

“Yes, but drink war his ruination.”

“An’ how’s Miss Nancy?”

“Oh, she’s com’d down migh’ly. She’s pore as a church mouse. I thought ’twould com’d home ter her wen she sole yer ’way from yore chillen. Dere’s nuffin goes ober de debil’s back dat don’t come under his belly. Do yo ’member Miss Nancy’s fardder?”

“Ob course I does!”

“Well,” said Aunt Linda, “he war a nice ole gemmen. Wen he died, I said de las’ gemmen’s dead, an’ dere’s noboddy ter step in his shoes.”

“Pore Miss Nancy!” exclaimed Robert’s mother. “I ain’t nothin’ agin her. But I wouldn’t swap places wid her, ’cause I’se got my son; an’ I beliebs he’ll do a good part by me.”

“Mother,” said Robert, as he entered the room, “I’ve brought an old friend to see you. Do you remember Uncle Daniel?”

Uncle Daniel threw back his head, reached out his hand, and manifested his joy with “Well, Har’yet! is dis you? I neber ’spected to see you in dese lower grouns! How does yer do? an’ whar hab you bin all dis time?”

“O, I’se been tossin’ roun’ ’bout; but it’s all com’d right at las’. I’se lib’d to see my boy ’fore I died.”

“My wife an’ boys is in glory,” said Uncle Daniel. “But I ’spects to see ’em ’fore long. ’Cause I’se tryin’ to dig deep, build sure, an’ make my way from earth ter glory.”

“Dat’s de right kine ob talk, Dan’el. We ole folks ain’t got long ter stay yere.”

They chatted together until Job and Salters came home for supper. After they had eaten, Uncle Daniel said:—

“We’ll hab a word ob prayer.”

There, in that peaceful habitation, they knelt down, and mingled their prayers together, as they had done in bygone days, when they had met by stealth in lonely swamps or silent forests.

The next morning Robert and his mother started northward. They were well supplied with a bountiful luncheon by Aunt Linda, who had so thoroughly enjoyed their sojourn with her. On the next day he arrived in the city of P——, and took his mother to his boardinghouse, until he could find a suitable home into which to install her. He soon came across one which just suited his taste, but when the agent discovered that Robert’s mother was colored, he told him that the house had been previously engaged. In company with his mother he looked at several other houses in desirable neighborhoods, but they were constantly met with the answer, “The house is engaged,” or, “We do not rent to colored people.”

At length Robert went alone, and, finding a desirable house, engaged it, and moved into it. In a short time it was discovered that he was colored, and, at the behest of the local sentiment of the place, the landlord used his utmost endeavors to oust him, simply because he belonged to an unfashionable and unpopular race. At last he came across a landlord who was broad enough to rent him a good house, and he found a quiet resting place among a set of well-to-do and well-disposed people.