Ella still remained motionless, and to all appearances lifeless.
"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs.Wentworth, "my child cannot be dead!" "Top a bit, mistis, an' I will fix de little gal for you," said the old negro, hobbling, to the bedside, with a small bottle filled with camphor in her hand.

"Dis stuff will bring her to.

Don't be afeard, she ain't dead." Pouring out some of the stimulant in one hand, the kind-hearted old woman bathed Ella's face with it, and held the bottle to her nostrils, until a sigh from the child showed that she still lived.

After a few seconds she opened her eyes, and looked up to her mother, who was, bending with anxious countenance over her.
"Dar now," said the old negro in a tone of satisfaction, "did not I tell you dat de sweet little child was libbing." "Thank you, old woman, God in Heaven bless you!" exclaimed Mrs.
Wentworth, as she clapped the old woman's hand in her own.
"Berry well, berry well," was the answer of the negro, "you welcome misses." There, in the cabin of that good old slave, the soldier's wife heard the first voice of kindness that had greeted her ears for months.

From the hands of a servile race she had received the first act of charity, and in a land like this.