that!"

"Of course, it would be a very painful duty," began Mr. Bird, in a
moderate tone.

"Duty, John! don't use that word! You know it isn't a duty--it can't be
a duty! If folks want to keep their slaves from running away, let 'em
treat 'em well,--that's my doctrine. If I had slaves (as I hope I never
shall have), I'd risk their wanting to run away from me, or you either,
John. I tell you folks don't run away when they are happy; and when
they do run, poor creatures! they suffer enough with cold and hunger and
fear, without everybody's turning against them; and, law or no law, I
never will, so help me God!"

"Mary! Mary! My dear, let me reason with you."

"I hate reasoning, John,--especially reasoning on such subjects. There's
a way you political folks have of coming round and round a plain
right thing; and you don't believe in it yourselves, when it comes to
practice. I know _you_ well enough, John. You don't believe it's right
any more than I do; and you wouldn't do it any sooner than I."

At this critical juncture, old Cudjoe, the black man-of-all-work,
put his head in at the door, and wished "Missis would come into the
kitchen;" and our senator, tolerably relieved, looked after his little
wife with a whimsical mixture of amusement and vexation, and, seating
himself in the arm-chair, began to read the papers.

After a moment, his wife's voice was heard at the door, in a quick,
earnest tone,--"John! John! I do wish you'd come here, a moment."