But I now entered on my fifteenth year - a sad epoch in the life of a slave girl. My master began to whisper foul words in my ear. Young as I was, I could not remain ignorant of their import.
When I was nearly twelve years old, my kind mistress sickened and died.
If a slave is unwilling to go with his new master, he is whipped, or locked up in jail, until he consents to go, and promises not to run away during the year.
Always it gave me a pang that my children had no lawful claim to a name.
The beautiful spring came; and when Nature resumes her loveliness, the human soul is apt to revive also.
I WAS born a slave; but I never knew it till six years of happy childhood had passed away.
