Often and often she would come and walk sadly around the place where the poor slaves sat in their chains. She would look pityingly at them, and then go slowly away. Once or twice she came with her dress full of sweets, nuts, and oranges, and gave them all some.
Tom watched the little lady, and tried to make friends with her. His pockets were full of all kinds of things, with which he used to amuse his old master's children.
He could make whistles of every sort and size, cut baskets out of cherry-stones, faces out of nut-shells, jumping figures out of bits of wood. He brought these out one by one, and though the little girl was shy at first, they soon grew to be great friends.
'What is missy's name?' said Tom one day.
'Evangeline St. Clare,' said the little girl; 'though papa and everybody else call me Eva. Now, what's your name?'
'My name's Tom. The little chil'en at my old home used to call me Uncle Tom.'
'Then I mean to call you Uncle Tom, because, you see, I like you,' said Eva. 'So, Uncle Tom, where are you going?'
'I don't know, Miss Eva.'
'Don't know?' said Eva.
'No. I'm going to be sold to somebody. I don't know who.'