He stuck to it, too, though I gave him the very worst beating I ever gave a nigger yet.

I believe he is trying to die.

I shouldn't wonder if he did.' 'Where is he ?' said George.

'Let me see him.' His cheeks were crimson, and his eye flashed fire at the thought that Legree had dared to treat dear Uncle Tom so badly.
'He is in that shed,' said a little fellow who was holding George Shelby's horse.
George, without saying another word, hurried to the place to which the little boy pointed.
As he entered the shed, his head felt giddy and his heart sick.
Uncle Tom lay on a heap of straw on the floor, still and quiet.
'Oh, dear Uncle Tom,' cried George as he knelt beside him, 'dear Uncle Tom, do wake--do speak once more.

Here's Mas'r George--your own little Mas'r George.