"O, little missy, I tink you can sympetize wid old black Bingo; but den, ebry body not like you; you's one ob de Lord's chilen hesef."
"We are all the Lord's children, Vingo," said Mrs. Grosvenor; "and we should walk in the paths of righteousness, that we may be worthy of his name. You may go, now."
"What does Vingo mean, mother? he talks so strangely sometimes about my being left here by the Lord, and goes on muttering something to himself, which I cannot understand, and laughs as if he was very happy."
"It is his way of expressing himself, my dear; the negroes are a peculiar race."
"Yes, I think they are; I like their ways, they are always so kind. Are not their dispositions better than those of some white people? I never heard of a black man being cruel to any one, but I have seen the prints of a whip-lash on Vingo's neck, where he said his old massa used to whip him; and I asked him many times over, if he was sure it was a white man who whipped him, and he said yes, he was sure, for he remembers he used to wish white folks were black, so they could not tell which were the negroes."
"There are some very hard-hearted people in the world. Vingo was brought up in slavery; when you are a little older you will understand it better."
"Dear mother, you know what is best for me; but often, when I am interested in what is said, and ask questions, people tell me I will understand it when I am a little older; and when I sit down by myself, and they think I have forgotten all about it, I find myself wishing I was "a little older," for it disappoints me so much to leave a story not finished."
Mrs. Grosvenor looked at the child in silence.
"I have not displeased you, dear mother, have I? I did not feel that I was saying anything wrong."
"No, darling; I did not think you would understand me, that was the reason why I did not explain to you. I am always ready to talk with you, if you can comprehend what I am saying."