Nelly, smilingly, brimming with the curiosity she could not restrain. “I know it was something good, because you don’t often laugh, Comfort.”

“No,” said Comfort, “that ar’s a fact. I don’t ’prove of little bits o’ stingy laughs, every now and then. I likes one good guffaw and done with it.”

“Well,” said Nelly, “go on. Tell me about it.”

“Yer see,” said Comfort, taking her pipe from between her lips, and giving a sudden whirl to the smoke issuing from them, “Yer see, Nelly, I was laughin’ ’bout my neffy.”

"Your neffy, Comfort? What’s that?"

“Lor! do tell! Don’t yer know what a neffy is yet? I didn’t ’spect yer to know much when yer was Marm Lizy’s gal, but now, when Mrs. Brooks has adopted of yer, and sent yer to school to be edicated, we look for better things. Don’t know what a neffy is, eh?”

“No,” said Nelly, looking somewhat disturbed. “Tell me, Comfort. Is it something that grows?”

“Grows!” screamed Comfort, bursting into a laugh that certainly was not a stingy one; “Grows! Goodness! hear this yere chile! Ho, ho, ho! I—b’lieve—I shall—crack my poor ole sides! Grows! Oh my!”

"You mustn’t laugh so, Comfort," said Nelly, with dignity, “you make me feel,—well, leastways, you make me feel real bad.”

“Oh dear, dear,” mumbled the old woman in a faint voice. “That does beat all! Why, see here, Nelly,—s’pose now, I had a sister once, and that ar sister got married and had a little boy, what ought he to call me, eh?”

“Why, his Aunt Comfort, to be sure,” was the reply.

“And I ought to call him neffy John, or Johnny, for short, oughtn’t I? Well, it was ’bout my neffy Johnny I was laughin’ yesterday. Now I’ll tell yer how it was, sence I’ve done laughin’ ’bout him to-day,—oh my! You see, Johnny is a slave down South, ever so far off, on a rice plantation.”

“Slave?” repeated Nelly, with growing interest; “what’s slave, Comfort?”

"Oh, somethin’ that grows," answered Comfort, chuckling. “A slave is a black man, woman, or chile that has a marster. This marse, as we call him, can sell the slave to anybody for a lot o’ money, and the poor slave, as has been a t’ilin’, strivin’ soul all his days, can say nuthin’ ag’in’ it. It’s the law, yer see.”

“Comfort,” said Nelly, “stop a minute. Do you think that is a right law?”

“No,” said Comfort, “I can’t say as I does. Some marsters are good, and some, on the contrary, are oncommon bad. Now my little neffy has a good ’un. Ever sence his poor mammy’s death, I’ve been savin’ and savin’, and t’ilin’ and t’ilin’, to buy Johnny and bring him North, ’cause I set a good deal on him. This ere good marse of his agreed to let me buy him, when he was nuffin’ but a baby; and he’s been keepin’ of him for me all this yere long time.”

"I’m glad I’m not Johnny," said Nell, earnestly; “If bein’ a slave is getting bought and sold like a cow or a dog, a slave is just what I don’t want to be. Hasn’t Johnny any relations down there, Comfort?”

The old woman shook her head.

“I’m the only one of his kin in the ’varsel world.”

“Poor little fellow!” said Nelly meditating; “I don’t wonder you want to buy him. How old is he?”

“Twelve year.”

“And you’ve got enough money, Comfort?”

A bright smile beamed suddenly all over that dark face.

“Ho!” she cried, “that ar’s just what I was laughin’ at yesterday. I want only a leetle more, and ’deed, my neffy will have no marse ag’in,—only a missus, and that’ll be me, thank the Lord!”

The old colored woman tossed her apron over her head, and from the odd puffing noises that immediately began to sound from behind it, Nelly supposed she was weeping. She thought she must have been mistaken, however, the next moment, for Comfort pulled down the apron a little savagely, as though ashamed of having indulged in such a luxury as a private groan or two, and in a stern voice bade Nelly go up in her (Comfort’s) room, feel under the bolster, on the side nearest the wall, and bring down to her the foot of a stocking which she would find there.

“And don’t let the grass grow under yer feet, neither,” said Comfort, by way of a parting benediction, as the child softly closed the door. It was reopened almost immediately, and Nelly’s smiling face appeared.

“I say, Comfort.”

“Well chile, what now?”

“I’m real, real sorry for that little neffy of yours you’ve been tellin’ me about. And, Comfort, when he comes I’ll be as good to him as I can. I was thinkin’ I would knit a pair of gray, woollen stockings to have ready for him, shall I? How big is he?”

"’Bout your size," replied Comfort. “The notion of them stockings is quite nice. I’m much obleeged to yer, Nelly.”

Nelly looked delighted, and started to go up-stairs once more. In about a minute and a half, her face was peering into the kitchen again.

“Comfort, I guess I’ll knit a red binding at the top of the stockings, to look handsome, shall I?”

“Why, yes,” said Comfort, mightily pleased; “that will make ’em smart, won’t it?”

“A red yarn binding,” continued the little girl, “knit on after the stocking is toed off,—a binding full of little scallops and such like!”

“Laws, chile,” said Comfort, benignantly, “I sorter think yer might stop short of them scallops. Neffy won’t be anxious about scallops, I reckon, seein’ as how he has only wored nater’s stockings so far, with no petik’lar bindin’ at all, that I knows on. Come, now, mind yerself and run up-stairs. I can’t be wastin’ all my time, a-waitin’.”

Nelly shut the door, and went singing up-stairs, two at once, while the old woman employed her valuable time in smoking her pipe.

In a short time eager, young footsteps were heard dancing along the entry, and into the room came Nelly, looking as happy as though for her there existed no ill-natured schoolmate in all the world.

“Here it is!” she said, holding triumphantly up the foot of an old stocking, ragged at the edges, but scrupulously clean,—the same in fact, from which Comfort had once given her a small gift of money; “here it is, Comfort; but didn’t I have a powerful hunt for it! I dived under the bolster and under the mattrass,—at the foot,—at the head,—at the sides,—and then I found it on the sacking. Hear how it jingles! What fun it must be to earn money, Comfort! Do look at my hair,—if I haven’t got it full of feathers, poking among your pillows!” Sure enough, starting up all over her curls were gray and white downy particles.

“Laws sakes,” exclaimed Comfort, helping her to pick them off, “that ar hole must a broke loose ag’in in my bolster! I can sew it up every Saturday night, and sure as I’m livin’, it bursts ag’in Monday mornin’.”

"That’s ’cause your brain is too heavy; you’ve got too many thoughts in it, perhaps," laughed Martin, who entered at that moment, and began to