'Where is he?' said George. 'Let me see him.' His cheeks were crimson, and his eye flashed fire at the thought that Legree had dared to treat dear Uncle Tom so badly.
'He is in that shed,' said a little fellow who was holding George Shelby's horse.
George, without saying another word, hurried to the place to which the little boy pointed.
As he entered the shed, his head felt giddy and his heart sick.
Uncle Tom lay on a heap of straw on the floor, still and quiet.
'Oh, dear Uncle Tom,' cried George as he knelt beside him, 'dear Uncle Tom, do wake—do speak once more. Here's Mas'r George—your own little Mas'r George. Don't you know me?'
'Mas'r George!' said Tom, opening his eyes, and speaking in a feeble voice. 'Mas'r George? it is—it is. It's all I wanted. They haven't forgot me. It warms my soul; it does my old heart good. Now I shall die content.'
'You shan't die! you mustn't die, nor think of it. I've come to buy you and take you home,' said George, and the tears came into his eyes as he bent over poor Uncle Tom.
'Oh, Mas'r George, ye're too late. The Lord has bought me, and is going to take me home.'