Then I suddenly remembered a long wrap of Canadian factory material that had been with me in many a mountain ramble over the water. I had put it in my trunk without any very definite reason for doing so, against all the good natured ridicule showered upon me by friends. I had not used it, seemed to have no use for it, until this need flashed upon me. Before many minutes it was fished out of the bottom of my trunk, brought there and fitted on the aged sister. It was warm, it had sleeves, and when it was buttoned on, it reached to the ground. “It’s just like my bressed Master, dat is,” said old Aunty, her sunken eyes shining with gladness. “I ask fer sumpin’ warm, with sleeves, an’ he sen’ me what cover me all over down to de feet. Bress de Lawd, it is allars above what we ask. Now you can see how He done care fer ole Aunty. It’s allers jest so, He cares.” I looked at her, old and poor, asthmatic and rheumatic, helpless and dependent, and her thankfulness shamed me. In putting on the wrap, my friend pointed out the scars of ancient floggings ridged and furrowed in the dark skin. The ploughers had ploughed on her back, and made long their furrows. She was one of His. Was this in any way being in fellowship with His sufferings? She was old, very old, ten years past the allotted period of three score and ten, she believed, when the tramp of armies heralded freedom for her in the sunset and twilight of her life. “I’se sitting in my cheer, such a cumf’able cheer, an’ my heart is singing all de time, because my bressed Lawd ’members me an’ loves me, an’ answers all my pra’rs.” My heart did not sing all the time. I had questionings, and even murmurings. I looked around the cabin; there was no comfort or possibility of comfort to be seen. Abject, helpless poverty was the sum total of all her surroundings. She was dependent on what could be spared from the scant wages of her son, a Southern day laborer with a large young family. Living thus on the perilous edge of want, and her heart singing all the time with thankfulness! To think of it! “What do you feel thankful for?” I asked. The words leapt out before I was aware. “Thankful, chile! I’se thankful for all my marcies, for all de goodness from my bressed Master that come to me. I allers wanted to be free ’fore I died; now I’se free. Thank God an’ Massa Linkum, I’se free! My heart was sore for my chilluns, sole away from me befo’ the wa’, an my bressed Master find one for me, brung him here after the wa’; my oldest son, he is. I fin’ my two gals, or they fin’ me; they’se married down yer’, an’ they’se all good to me. It’s allers jest so since I got ’ligion. God has answer’ every pra’r, an’ best of all, He stays by me in the dark an’ in the light. Oh, honey, my heart does well to be thankful an’ keep singin’ all de time.”