Miss Patty had said good-by at the house, but now Pomona came hurrying down with a basket of Japanese persimmons for the journey. With the bunch of red roses these made two more things not to be forgotten when you left your seat, and Hertha felt Miss Witherspoon look disapprovingly at them. Then with the rising sun the boat came toward them around the bend seeming, to the young girl who stood there, like some sea monster that would drag her away from everything familiar and carry her to an alien land. She grew almost sick with fear, but a glance at Ellen made her rally. A step up the gangplank and she had left the world of friends, of mother and sister and brother, of lovely skies, of beautiful trees, of mockingbirds and whistling quail, the world of long walks with Tom and of evenings out under the stars; the world that had been a world of rest and peace until Tom left it on this same boat less than two months ago. "The porter has both your bags, I hope," said Miss Witherspoon anxiously. But it proved that Lee Merryvale was carrying them, and as she spoke he deposited them at Hertha's side. Then, taking off his hat, he said good-by. "I am coming North this winter," he remarked decisively, "and I shall expect to see you. I hope you'll enjoy going into a new land." "I think I shall," Hertha managed to answer, and was grateful that he had not tried to shake hands. When he left them the moorings were cast off, and the boat turned out into the stream. On the dock stood the Merryvales, father and son. A little way from them, by herself, was Ellen. Now they were going past the great house, the trees were tossing their mossy beards and from the gallery Miss Patty was waving to her. Cows grazed in the river, and high above a turkey buzzard soared, gazing down to find death on the earth. Then the river made a bend and the familiar world was gone. Before she left the boat Hertha took out a letter from Tom and read it once again. Tom had shown his thoughtfulness in every line. There was no surprise in his receipt of the news and there was much gladness for her. "Sister," he wrote, "we are all in a cage, we black folk. It's a big cage, and we get used to it and have a good time in it, and after a while we don't much notice when we strike our wings against the bars. But it's a cage. Do you remember that funny, old white woman in the city who used to let us look in her room and see her family of canaries? They were breeding right there in her parlor, building their nests and bringing up their young. Those canaries were just as busy and as much taken up with their goings on as if they had been out in the trees. But they were prisoners all the same. Well, they've opened the cage door for you and set you free. It wasn't right for you to be shut up; it weren't meant for you. Now you're free and folks won't come just to play with you in your cage. I'm glad, Sister, and don't forget you're free."