Pompey, hearing her call, went into the room in time to hear her last words. He went to her bedside as he said, “Paul will come soon. He went down the lane to see if the doctor is coming. I’s sent for him and he will come very fast when he hears de news. Missus, I’s been berry kind and obedient to you, ain’t I? I’s lived with you ever since Paul was a little chick. Anything you want me to tell him, Missus?”
“Yes, my faithful man, you know the whole history of my life, and when I am gone tell him not to censure his father as it was all my fault—his leaving home; but make my sin as light as you can. There is a little tin box in the garret that will tell him all he wishes to know.”
She nearly held out her hand to the faithful man, saying, “It’s very hard bidding you goodbye, Pompey, and may God bless you forever!”
She whispered the last words, and as her son came into the room her eyes brightened for a moment and she tried to speak to him but could not. Her breath grew shorter and shorter with each moment, and soon she was no more.
They laid her beneath the weeping willow tree and at her grave the son placed a neat monument in memory of her who reared him to manhood. Sad and dreary was that house to Paul. The sunshine had fled and only shadows remained. No mother now to kiss him good night; no father to bear with him this sorrow, and the only being he loved beside his mother was gone, he knew not where. The only friends that deeply sympathized with him except the servants were John Hilton’s family, especially Warren, who was there night and day and kept Paul company through this sad affliction. When this kind companion went home Paul could not reconcile himself to stay in the house where once was life and joy for him.
“I cannot stay here; I must go somewhere; there is no comfort for me on this earth. Oh, why did I live to see this trouble!”
Thus he would talk to Warren Hilton when they were alone.
“Why do you not go away from here for a while? The servants can look after the farm, and I will run over now and then to see how they get along. You can write me and you can hear all about them. You can go down to the city of New York, or anywhere else you choose. Something may change for the best. I would not stay here and moan myself to death if I were you. What do you say to that, my friend?” said Warren, tapping his friend on the shoulder, one summer evening as he saw how sad and lonely Paul was. Warren’s sympathetic heart went out to his friend. It grieved him sadly to see his lonely friend, as Paul was never seen to smile since his mother’s death.
It was nearly a year since the opening of our story. All nature was dressed in its mantle of green when Paul decided to travel. The evening before he was to start he sat in the library with his head in his hands thinking of the past. A light rap sounded on the door, which brought him back to the present, and bidding the knocker come in Pompey put his wooly head in the room and said, “Massa berry busy? I’s like to talk wid you a little while before you goes away, as you go so early in de morning, so I’s just come now to see you.”
“All right, Pompey, take a chair and tell me all the news.”