"I have come, Uncle Toney," said the youth, "to see you for the last
time. I am going away to-morrow and, as soon as I can, going back to
the distant home I so foolishly left."
"I am sorry you tell me so; won't you be sorry, Miss Alice?" asked
Toney. Alice bit her lip, and the flush upon her cheek was less ruddy
than usual.
"You no find dis country good like yourn, young massa?"
"Yes, Toney, this is a good country, and there is no country more
beautiful. But, uncle, it requires more than a beautiful country to
make us happy; we must have with us those we love, and who love us; and
the scenes of our childhood--our fathers and mothers, and brothers and
sisters who are glad with us and who sorrow with us, and the companions
of our school-days, to make us happy. I am here without any of
these--not a relation within a thousand miles; with no one to care for
me or to love me." There was something plaintively melancholly in his
words and tones. He looked at Alice, her eyes were swimming in tears
and she turned away from his gaze.
"You been mity sick, here, young massa, didn't Miss Alice be good to
you? Aunt Ann tell me so.
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