TOM found, however, when he told the incident to the people who were assembled in Aunt Margaret’s cabin when he came in at night, that it created quite a sensation. The idea of any one of them being sent for into the master’s library was a wonder, and Tom found himself a lion among them. He did not feel the least elated, however. He only feared, when he came to think of it, that his master’s discovery of his knowledge would lead to his dismissal, and he had felt as if he was just beginning to gain the friendship of his fellow-workers which he so much wished to have. Therefore it was with rather a grave face and sober step that he walked in the gathering twilight toward the mansion. Aunt Dinah was standing on the back porch, throwing corn and feed to the chickens, who, having grown tame from long acquaintance, were crowding close around her, in order to get each one a full share of the evening meal.
Tom came up and touched his cap. “Auntie,” said he, “has Mr. Sutherland finished his supper?”
Now Aunt Dinah was crabbed, and she determined, when she saw him coming, that she would send him off rather quicker than he came, but the touched cap and voice of respect went to just the right place in her heart. “Sure, honey, he’s done supper,” she said. “What did you want with him?”
“He bade me come up after tea,” replied Tom, “and he said you would show me the way to the library.” Tom rose higher in Aunt Dinah’s regard immediately. In her own words, “If marster wanted one of them field hands in the lib’ry, it meant sumthin’, sure enough.”
Therefore, with a little smoothing touch to her apron, she led the way through the matted hall, and knocked at one of the doors which opened from it. “This is the library,” she said, and so left him.
A little girl came and opened the door—a sweet-looking, black-eyed child of about seven years old—and held it open as he stepped in. Mr. Sutherland lifted his eyes from a bundle of papers, and seeing who it was, said, “Ah! here you are. Just sit down a few minutes and I shall be able to attend to you.”
Tom seated himself quietly, glad of the few minutes given him to examine the pretty room. Called a library out of compliment, it was more like a tiny drawing-room, so many little things of elegance were gathered here. The taste of the owner had full play, and showed itself rather too fond of gilt and bright colors, but at the same time toned down by a few Parian figures and antique vases, which showed where the wife had been at work. Tom looked at her, after his survey of the room, with eyes which certainly did not lack admiration. A delicate, fair woman, with the languid manner characteristic of her countrywomen, but with an air of refinement and culture resting upon every move of her hand and turn of her head. A vision of beauty such as Tom had never seen before. The little girl who had opened the door for him was seated at her mother’s feet, very industriously engaged in undressing a large doll, and at the same time singing softly to herself—
“Jesus loves me—this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.”
There she would stop, hum the remainder of the tune, and then go back to the beginning again. Tom wondered whether she knew the rest of the verse, and was longing to tell her, when his master called him, and he ceased to listen. “Tom,” said he, “I find you can write much better than I can—(my education was neglected somehow)” he added in parenthesis, moving uneasily in his chair, with a glance at his wife—“and I have much trouble in making the merchants comprehend the accounts. I thought perhaps you might know how to decipher them, and in that case I thought I would employ you to copy them, spending say an hour every evening. Of course you will be paid,” he added.