That night I sought my pillow with feelings I had never carried to it before.  I verily believed myself to be a free woman.  I was wakeful for a long time, and I had no sooner fallen asleep, than I was roused by fire-bells.  I jumped up, and hurried on my clothes.  Where I came from, every body hastened to dress themselves on such occasions.  The white people thought a great fire might be used as a good opportunity for insurrection, and that it was best to be in readiness; and the colored people were ordered out to labor in extinguishing the flames.  There was but one engine in our town, and colored women and children were often required to drag it to the river’s edge and fill it.  Mrs. Durham’s daughter slept in the same room with me, and seeing that she slept through all the din, I thought it was my duty to wake her.  “What’s the matter?” said she, rubbing her eyes.

“They’re screaming fire in the streets, and the bells are ringing,” I replied.

“What of that?” said she, drowsily.  “We are used to it.  We never get up, without the fire is very near.  What good would it do?”

I was quite surprised that it was not necessary for us to go and help fill the engine.  I was an ignorant child, just beginning to learn how things went on in great cities.

At daylight, I heard women crying fresh fish, berries, radishes, and various other things.  All this was new to me.  I dressed myself at an early hour, and sat at the window to watch that unknown tide of life.  Philadelphia seemed to me a wonderfully great place.  At the breakfast table, my idea of going out to drag the engine was laughed over, and I joined in the mirth.

I went to see Fanny, and found her so well contented among her new friends that she was in no haste to leave.  I was also very happy with my kind hostess.  She had had advantages for education, and was vastly my superior.  Every day, almost every hour, I was adding to my little stock of knowledge.  She took me out to see the city as much as she deemed prudent.  One day she took me to an artist’s room, and showed me the portraits of some of her children.  I had never seen any paintings of colored people before, and they seemed to be beautiful.

At the end of five days, one of Mrs. Durham’s friends offered to accompany us to New York the following morning.  As I held the hand of my good hostess in a parting clasp, I longed to know whether her husband had repeated to her what I had told him.  I supposed he had, but she never made any allusion to it.  I presume it was the delicate silence of womanly sympathy.

When Mr. Durham handed us our tickets, he said, “I am afraid you will have a disagreeable ride; but I could not procure tickets for the first-class cars.”

Supposing I had not given him money enough, I offered more.  “O, no,” said he, “they could not be had for any money.  They don’t allow colored people to go in the first-class cars.”