66 
THE RED MOUNTAIN OF ALASKA. 
their bulbs, until the very light of the moon above the 
chimney-tops seemed to come down frozen. 
Colder and colder it grew. In the North, people would 
not have been surprised at it, but Atlanta folks were not 
used to such cold, and it took them by surprise. 
George Alexander Jackson, or " Lex," as he was called 
for short, hurried along till he reached a small cabin on 
the outskirts of the city, and, slamming the door behind 
him, stood shivering before the stove, whose firelight, 
shining out between the bars in front, fell pleasantly on 
the floor, and danced all about the white kitten who 
blinked sleepily at Lex. 
" Well, Lex, got home f'm yo' wo'k agin, ain't ye ! " 
said a stout black woman, cheerily, coming up to him and 
drawing his woolly head to her motherly bosom. " Po' 
little boy ! He's done run all d' way home, — now, ain't 
ye, honey ? " 
Lex bobbed his head, and squirmed with the cold. 
" Dar, dar, chile, you jes' stay right in mammy's arms 
till ye get wo'm an' comf'ble. Reckon 'twon't be so cold 
ter-morrer. An' de Lo'd will pervide ! " 
Chloe Jackson was one of the old slaves who had " got 
religion," as her master had sneeringly said. Truly she 
had " got " it, firmly enough, and not even her freedom 
in these later days was so precious to her. To Lex, re- 
ligion as yet meant mostly — mammy," and he would 
have been as much alarmed had she stopped using Scrip- 
ture phrases as if she had stopped breathing. 
