“There is an empty log-cabin out beyond the quarters, which would do very well in warm weather.”
“Then I suppose you will shout and make a great noise about it.”
“No, sir, indeed,” urged Tom; “it will be as quiet as white people’s schools—as near like the one I have been attending all the year as I can possibly make it.”
“Well,” returned Mr. Sutherland, “I don’t know that I care much; but mind, if there is any disturbance I will put an end to it at short notice.”
Tom thanked him with a face full of pleasure, and returned to his work with a glad heart.
That evening, just after his work at the house was finished, and just before school-time, he went down to the quarters and visited the people. With a great deal of timidity and faint-heartedness he knocked at the first cabin door, but it was here his round of joy began. He used in years after to look back upon the pretty twilight walk with utter joy, and never without a fresh desire in his heart to work for that Lord who always gives the wherewithal when we have the spirit.
“It’s Tom Alson,” said the little child who opened the first cabin door, and Tom heard his welcome from within:
“Come in, Tom, here’s supper just ready,” said Aunt Polly’s voice, “and you must have somethin’, sure. It’s a fine ev’nin’, isn’t it?”
“Beautiful, Aunt Polly, but I must not stop. We are going to have a Sunday-school in the log-house behind the quarters Sunday afternoon, and I came to find out whether you would come.”
“Is you gwine to be thar?” asked she.