But one morning a singular thing occurred. To all appearances—to the eyes of all except one—he remained sitting out there in the sun after the Judge had gone. But Fessenden's, looking up suddenly, and staring at vacancy, cried,—
"Hollo!"
"What, child?" asked Mrs. Williams.
"The old man!" said Fessenden's. "Comin' into the door! Don't ye see him?"
Nobody saw him but the lad; and of course all were astonished by his earnest announcement of the apparition. The old grandmother hastened to look out. There sat her father still, on the bench by the apple-tree, leaning against the trunk. But the sight did not satisfy her. She ran out to him. The smile of salutation was still on his lips, which seemed just saying, "Sarvant, Sah," to the Judge. But those lips would never move again. They were the lips of death.
"What is the matter, Williams?" asked the Judge, on his return home that afternoon.
"My gran'ther is dead, Sir; and I don't know where to bury him." This was the negro's quiet and serious answer.
"Dead?" ejaculates the Judge. "Why, I saw him only this morning, and had a smile from him!"
"That was his last smile, Sir. You can see it on his face yet. He went to heaven with that smile, we trust."
To heaven? a negro in heaven? If that is so, some of us, I suppose, will no longer wish to go there. Or do you imagine that you will have need of servants in paradise, and that that is what Christian niggers are for? Or do you believe that in the celestial congregations there will also be a place set aside for the colored brethren,—a glorified niggers' pew? You scowl; you don't like a joke upon so serious a subject? Hypocrite! do you see nothing but a joke here?