‘Well, children, what story shall I tell you this evening?’ asked Grandfather.

‘A story of long ago, please,’ replied Laura, who liked to hear about far-off times.

‘Not too long ago, please,’ said Paul, who liked better to hear about things which happen to-day.

Grandfather lit his pipe and pulled his chair near the fire. “Then I shall tell you a story of quite long ago, but not very long ago,’ he began. ‘It is a story of America.’

‘Good!’ said Paul. ‘I like to hear about other lands.’

Then Grandfather began his story. ‘Well, at one time there were many black slaves in America. These slaves had to work very hard on the farms and in the cotton-fields. Very often their masters were cruel men. They used to whip the poor black people to make them work harder.

But sometimes the masters were kind, and then the slaves were happy to work for them. The slave in this story had a kind master.’

“What was the slave’s name?’ asked Laura.

‘He was called Uncle Tom,’ said Grandfather. ‘He lived with his wife and family in a pretty hut made of logs. Everybody called it Uncle Tom’s Cabin.

In summer, roses grew so thickly over the cabin that the logs could hardly be seen. In front of the hut was a neat garden, which was full of flowers and fruit.

‘It must have been a very pretty cabin,’ said Laura.

‘Indeed it was. And Uncle Tom and his family were very happy to be there, for his master trusted him and treated him well.’