"When we was all slaves dey was sold away from me, down in Alabama, I reckon, and I never expec' to see any of 'em ag'in."
"That is very hard, Nancy," said Mrs. Kenyon, roused to sympathy.
"So it is, Mis' Kenyon," said Nancy, wiping her eyes; "but I hope to see 'em in a better land."
Then Nancy, pausing in her rowing, began to sing in an untrained but rich voice a rude plantation hymn:
"We'se all a-goin', We'se all a-goin', We'se all a-goin', To de Promised Land.
"We shall see our faders. We shall see our moders, We shall see our chil'en, Dead an' gone before us, In de Promised Land.
"Don't you cry, poor sinner, Don't you cry, poor sinner, We'se all a-goin To de Promised Land."
"It makes me feel better to sing them words, Mis' Kenyon," said Nancy; "for it's all true. De Lord will care for us in de Promised Land."
"I am glad you have so much faith, Nancy," said her companion. "Your words cheer me, in spite of myself. For the first time, I begin to hope."
"Dat's right, Mis' Kenyon," said Nancy, heartily. "Dat's de way to talk."
They were walking while this conversation took place, and soon they reached the station--a small rude hut, or little better.
A man with a flag stood in front of it, while a gentleman and lady were standing just in the door-way.
Mrs. Kenyon had on the way disencumbered herself of the gown and other disguises which she had worn in the boat, and appeared a quiet, lady-like figure, who might readily be taken for a Southern matron, with a colored attendant.
"When will the next train start, sir?" she asked, addressing the flagman.
"The ticket agent is away. You will have to buy one on board the train."
They went into the small depot and waited till the train arrived. Then Mrs. Kenyon bade a hurried good-by to Nancy, pressed another piece of gold into her not unwilling hand, and was quickly on her way.
As the train started she breathed a sigh of relief.
"At last I feel that I am free!" she said to herself. "But where am I going and what is to be my future life?"
They were questions which she could not answer. The future must decide.
Nancy bent her steps toward her humble home, congratulating herself on the success with which their mutual plans had been carried out.
"I wonder how Miss Clopatry is gettin' along," she reflected.