One Sunday afternoon, weary with the noise and rioting at the quarters, homesick and sad, she wandered away from her hovel, and strolling down the path which led to the cotton-field, she kept on through bush and brake and wood until she reached the bank of the river. Here, where the great Mississippi, the Father of Waters, seemed to have broken his way through tangled and interminable forests, she stood and looked out upon the broad stream. It lay like a vast mirror reflecting the sunlight, its surface only now and then disturbed by a passing boat or prowling king-fisher. Up and down the bank, with folded arms and pensive countenance, the toil-worn, weary girl walked, her soul in unison with the solitude and silence of the place. Recollections of the past, which continually haunted her, but which she had of late striven with all her might to banish from her mind, now rushed like a mighty tide over her. She could not help thinking of the pleasant Sabbath days in old Virginia, when she and Mammy Grace were always permitted to go to church; and of those sunset hours, when, seated in the door of the neat cabin, she had joined with the old nurse and Uncle Simon in singing those beautiful hymns they loved so well. How long it was since she had tried to sing one! Before she was aware, she was humming, in a low voice, the once familiar words:-- "Oh, when shall I see Jesus, And reign with him above? And from that flowing fountain Drink everlasting love?" Then, suddenly jumping over all the intervening verses, as if she, a poor shipwrecked soul, were springing to the cable suddenly thrown out before her, she burst out in a loud strain,-- "Whene'er you meet with trouble And trials on your way, Oh, cast your care on Jesus, And don't forget to pray." With what unction Uncle Simon used to pour forth that verse. It was to him the grand cure-all, the panacea for every heart-trouble; and over and over again he would sing it, always winding up in his own peculiar fashion with a quick, jerked-out "Hallelujah! Amen." His image rose vividly before Tidy at that moment, and, as the tears began to roll down her cheeks, she clasped her hands over her face, and cried, "Oh, I has forgot that. I has forgot to pray." Then, falling on her knees, she poured forth such an earnest prayer as had never before, perhaps, been heard in that vast solitude. Her heart was relieved by this outpouring of her griefs to God, and she wondered that she had allowed herself, notwithstanding her sufferings and discouragements, to neglect such a privilege. It is so sometimes; grief is so overwhelming that it seems to shut us away from God; but we can never find comfort or relief until we have pierced through the clouds, and got near to his loving ear and heart again. Tidy found this true. "And now," she said to herself, "I WILL keep on praying until he hears me, and comes to help me,--I am determined I will."