"I just wish I could live at your house, Bob."
"Perhaps I can make an exchange, and give Clip to your uncle instead of you."
"Oh, Massa Bob, don't you do it!" exclaimed Clip, looking scared. "Old Massa Wolverton would kill me, I know he would. He hates niggers, I heard him say so."
Bob and Sam laughed, being amused by the evident terror of the young colored boy.
"I won't do it, Clip, unless you are very bad," said Bob, gravely, "though I think Sam would be willing to change."
"Indeed I would," said Sam with a sigh. "There's no such good luck for me."
When Bob carried in the receipt and showed it to his mother, her face lighted up with joy.
"This is indeed a stroke of good fortune," she said; "or rather it seems like a direct interposition of Providence—that Providence that cares for the widow and the fatherless. You must make Sam a present."
"So I will, mother; but if he understands it is for this he won't take anything."
"Sam is evidently very different from his uncle. He is a sound scion springing from a corrupt trunk. Leave it to me to manage. Won't he stay to supper?"