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OUR NIG.
51
"If I do, I get whipped;" sobbed the child. "They won't believe what I say. Oh, I wish I had my mother back; then I should not be kicked and whipped so. Who made me so?"
"God;" answered James.
"Did God make you?"
"Yes."
"Who made Aunt Abby?"
"God."
"Who made your mother?"
"God."
"Did the same God that made her make me?"
"Yes."
"Well, then, I don't like him."
"Why not?"
"Because he made her white, and me black. Why didn't he make us both white?"
"I don't know; try to go to sleep, and you will feel better in the morning," was all the reply he could make to her knotty queries. It was a long time before she fell asleep; and a number of days before James felt in a mood to visit and entertain old associates and friends.
