"Not a bit! he hedn't no business ter be so shabby." "But, Aunt Linda," pursued Iola, "if it were shabby for an ignorant colored man to sell his vote, wasn't it shabbier for an intelligent white man to buy it?" "You see," added Robert, "all the shabbiness is not on our side." "I knows dat," said Aunt Linda, "but I can't help it. I wants my people to wote right, an' to think somethin' ob demselves." "Well, Aunt Linda, they say in every flock of sheep there will be one that's scabby," observed Iola. "Dat's so! But I ain't got no use fer scabby sheep." "Lindy," cried John, "we's most dar! Don't you yere dat singin'? Dey's begun a'ready." "Neber mine," said Aunt Linda, "sometimes de las' ob de wine is de bes'." Thus discoursing they had beguiled the long hours of the night and made their long journey appear short. Very soon they reached the church, a neat, commodious, frame building, with a blue ceiling, white walls within and without, and large windows with mahogany-colored facings. It was a sight full of pathetic interest to see that group which gathered from miles around. They had come to break bread with each other, relate their experiences, and tell of their hopes of heaven. In that meeting were remnants of broken families--mothers who had been separated from their children before the war, husbands who had not met their wives for years. After the bread had been distributed and the handshaking was nearly over, Robert raised the hymn which Iola had sung for him when he was recovering from his wounds, and Iola, with her clear, sweet tones, caught up the words and joined him in the strain. When the hymn was finished a dear old mother rose from her seat. Her voice was quite strong. With still a lingering light and fire in her eye, she said:-- "I rise, bredren an' sisters, to say I'm on my solemn march to glory." "Amen!" "Glory!" came from a number of voices. "I'se had my trials an' temptations, my ups an' downs; but I feels I'll soon be in one ob de many mansions. If it hadn't been for dat hope I 'spects I would have broken down long ago. I'se bin through de deep waters, but dey didn't overflow me; I'se bin in de fire, but de smell ob it isn't on my garments. Bredren an' sisters, it war a drefful time when I war tored away from my pore little chillen." "Dat's so!" exclaimed a chorus of voices. Some of her hearers moaned, others rocked to and fro, as thoughts of similar scenes in their own lives arose before them.