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“Yes, certainly-poor fellow!” said the old gentleman, taking the pin, with wa- tery eyes, and a melancholy quiver in his voice. “Tell her one thing,” said George, “it’s my last wish, if she can get to Canada, to go there. No matter how kind her mistress is,- no matter how much she loves her home; beg her not to go back,- for slavery always ends in misery. Tell her to bring up our boy a free man, and then he won’t suffer as I have. Tell her this, Mr. Wilson, will you?” “Yes, George, I’ll tell her; but I trust you won’t die; take heart,- you’re a brave fellow. Trust in the Lord, George. I wish in my heart you were safe though,- that’s what I do.” “Is there a God to trust in?” said George, in such a tone of bitter despair as ar- rested the old gentleman’s words. “O, I’ve seen things all my life that have made me feel that there can’t be a God. You Christians don’t know how these things look to us. There’s a God for you, but is there any for us?” “O, now, don’t,- don’t, my boy!” said the old man, almost sobbing as he spoke; “don’t feel so! There is-there is; clouds and darkness are around about him, but righteousness and judgment are the habitation of his throne. There’s a God, George,- believe it; trust in him, and I’m sure he’ll help you. Everything will be set right,- if not in this life, in another.” |