"Laws, no,--course not, chile; ye's noffin but a chile, ye know; but some folks does orful tings. But ye needn't be afeard, honey; he's a good Lord, and lubs us all; and ef ye tries to be good, and 'beys missus, and neber lies, nor steals, nor swars, he'll be a good friend to ye. He'll make de sun to shine on yer, and de rain to fall; and when ye dies, he'll take yer right up dar, to lib wid him allus. There now, jest hark,--dat's old Si comin' up de lane. Don' ye h'ar him singin'? He lubs de Lord, he does, and he's allus a-singin'. Hark, now! a'n't it pooty? Guess de pone's done by dis time;" and she shuffled to the fireplace, to look after her cake. Tidy, almost overwhelmed with the weight of knowledge that had been poured in upon her inquiring spirit, and hardly knowing whether what she had heard should make her glad or sorry, leaned back against the door-post, and carelessly listened to the voice, as it came nearer and nearer. In a minute the words fell with pleasing distinctness upon the ear. "Dear sister, didn't you promise me To help me shout and praise him? Den come and jine your voice to mine, And sing his lub amazin'. I tink I hear de trumpet sound, About de break of day; Good Lord, we'll rise in de mornin', And fly, and fly away, On de mornin's wings, to Canaan's land, To heaben, our happy home, Bright angels shall convey our souls To de new Jerusalem." "Hallelujah, amen, bress de Lord. How is ye dis night, Mammy Grace?" said a cheerful voice at the cabin-door. "Ho! go 'long, Simon,--I knowed ye was comin'. Ye allus blows yer trumpet 'fore yer gits here. Come in, help yerse'f to a cha'r. Here, chile," addressing Tidy, "here's yer supper,--eat it now; and don' ye neber let what I's telled ye slip out of yer 'membrance." Which Tidy was not at all likely to do. She picked up the bread which was thrown to her, and, munching it as she went along, walked away to the pump to get a drink of water.