"Yes, Maud, they've run away, and if only they may _get_ away. God be
praised!"
Of course, I cried like an infant. I threw myself upon her bosom.
"Oh, auntie, auntie, I'm afraid it's my fault! But when I tell you how
far I was from meaning it----"
"Don't tell me a word, my child; I wish it were my fault; I'd like to
be in your shoes. And, I don't care how right slavery is, I'll never
own a darky again!"
One day some two months after, at home again with father. Just as I
was leaving the house on some errand, Sidney--ragged, wet, and
bedraggled as a lost dog--sprang into my arms. When I had got her
reclothed and fed I eagerly heard her story. Three of the four had
come safely through; poor Mingo had failed; if I ever tell of him it
must be at some other time. In the course of her tale I asked about
the compass.
"Dat little trick?" she said fondly. "Oh, yass'm, it wah de salvation
o' de Lawd 'pon cloudy nights; but time an' ag'in us had to sepa'ate,
'llowin' fo' to rejine togetheh on de bank o' de nex' creek, an' which,
de Lawd a-he'pin' of us, h-it al'ays come to pass; an' so, afteh all,
Miss Maud, de one thing what stan' us de bes' frien' night 'pon night,
next to Gawd hisse'f, dat wah his clock in de ske-eye."