"Laura was one of a large orphan family, living on Port Royal Island, S.C. When her mother died, she went to live with a colored woman who made her work very hard, 'tote' wood and water, hoe cotton and corn, do all manner of drudgery, rise at daybreak, and live on scanty food. Laura suffered from want, exposure and abuse. The freed-women of the plantation looked with pity into her eyes, and desired her to run away. But she replied, 'Aunt Dora will run after me, and when she done cotch me, she'll stripe me well with the lash; she done tell so already.' "One morning, however, when Laura went to the creek for crabs, a good aunty followed her, and throwing a shawl over the poor child's rags, said, 'Now, Laura, put foot for Beaufort fast as ever you can, and when you get there, inquire where Mrs. Mather lives: go straight to her; she has a good home for jes sich poor creeters as you be.' Laura obeyed, hastened to Beaufort, seven miles distant, found my home, was made welcome, and her miserable rags exchanged for good clean clothes. In the morning, I said, 'Laura, did you sleep well last night?' She replied, 'O, missis, my heart too full of joy to sleep. Me lay awake all night, thinking how happy me is in dis nice, clean bed, all to myself. Me never sleep in a bed before, missis.' "Laura, then about thirteen years old, came to me with a hard cough, and pain in her side. I put on flannels, gave her a generous diet, and hoped, that with rest and cheerful surroundings, she would soon rally as other children had, who came to me in a similar broken-down condition. Still the cough and pain continued. I dosed her with various restoratives, such as flax-seed, and slippery elm, etc., but all were of no avail. She steadily grew worse. Every week I could see she declined. Her appetite failed; night sweats came on; and she was so weak that most of the day she lay in bed. The children, all of whom loved Laura, she was so patient and gentle, whispered one to another, 'Laura is gwine to die; dere is def in her eye." "One evening in mid-winter, the poor child's short breath, fluttering pulse, and cold, clammy sweat alarmed me, and I felt sure that unless the dear Lord interposed in her behalf, her time with us was very short. I lingered by her bed till near midnight in prayer for her recovery. I could not give her up. Again in my own room I poured out my soul in prayer for the child, and then slept. About two o'clock, I suddenly awoke, and heard what seemed a voice saying to me, '_Go to Laura; I can heal her now; the conditions are right; you are both calm and trustful_.'