One day, she sat under the window where I was at work, crying that weary cry which makes a mother’s heart bleed.  I was obliged to steel myself to bear it.  After a while it ceased.  I looked out, and she was gone.  As it was near noon, I ventured to go down in search of her.  The great house was raised two feet above the ground.  I looked under it, and saw her about midway, fast asleep.  I crept under and drew her out.  As I held her in my arms, I thought how well it would be for her if she never waked up; and I uttered my thought aloud.  I was startled to hear some one say, “Did you speak to me?” I looked up, and saw Mr. Flint standing beside me.  He said nothing further, but turned, frowning, away.  That night he sent Ellen a biscuit and a cup of sweetened milk.  This generosity surprised me.  I learned afterwards, that in the afternoon he had killed a large snake, which crept from under the house; and I supposed that incident had prompted his unusual kindness.

The next morning the old cart was loaded with shingles for town.  I put Ellen into it, and sent her to her grandmother.  Mr. Flint said I ought to have asked his permission.  I told him the child was sick, and required attention which I had no time to give.  He let it pass; for he was aware that I had accomplished much work in a little time.

I had been three weeks on the plantation, when I planned a visit home.  It must be at night, after every body was in bed.  I was six miles from town, and the road was very dreary.  I was to go with a young man, who, I knew, often stole to town to see his mother.  One night, when all was quiet, we started.  Fear gave speed to our steps, and we were not long in performing the journey.  I arrived at my grandmother’s.  Her bed room was on the first floor, and the window was open, the weather being warm.  I spoke to her and she awoke.  She let me in and closed the window, lest some late passer-by should see me.  A light was brought, and the whole household gathered round me, some smiling and some crying.  I went to look at my children, and thanked God for their happy sleep.  The tears fell as I leaned over them.  As I moved to leave, Benny stirred.  I turned back, and whispered, “Mother is here.”  After digging at his eyes with his little fist, they opened, and he sat up in bed, looking at me curiously.  Having satisfied himself that it was I, he exclaimed, “O mother! you ain’t dad, are you?  They didn’t cut off your head at the plantation, did they?”

My time was up too soon, and my guide was waiting for me.  I laid Benny back in his bed, and dried his tears by a promise to come again soon.  Rapidly we retraced our steps back to the plantation.  About half way we were met by a company of four patrols.  Luckily we heard their horse’s hoofs before they came in sight, and we had time to hide behind a large tree.  They passed, hallooing and shouting in a manner that indicated a recent carousal.  How thankful we were that they had not their dogs with them!  We hastened our footsteps, and when we arrived on the plantation we heard the sound of the hand-mill.  The slaves were grinding their corn.  We were safely in the house before the horn summoned them to their labor.  I divided my little parcel of food with my guide, knowing that he had lost the chance of grinding his corn, and must toil all day in the field.