“Wasn’t she religious?”

“She went for it.  I suppose she was as good as most of them.  She said her prayers and went to church, but I don’t know that that made her any better.  I never did take much stock in white folks’ religion.”

“Why, Robert, I’m afraid you are something of an infidel.”

“No, Captain, I believe in the real, genuine religion.  I ain’t got much myself, but I respect them that have.  We had on our place a dear, old saint, named Aunt Kizzy.  She was a happy soul.  She had seen hard times, but was what I call a living epistle.  I’ve heard her tell how her only child had been sold from her, when the man who bought herself did not want to buy her child.  Poor little fellow! he was only two years old.  I asked her one day how she felt when her child was taken away.  ‘I felt,’ she said, ’as if I was going to my grave.  But I knew if I couldn’t get justice here, I could get it in another world.’”

“That was faith,” said Captain Sybil, as if speaking to himself, “a patient waiting for death to redress the wrongs of life.”

“Many a time,” continued Robert, “have I heard her humming to herself in the kitchen and saying, ’I has my trials, ups and downs, but it won’t allers be so.  I specs one day to wing and wing wid de angels, Hallelujah!  Den I specs to hear a voice sayin’, “Poor ole Kizzy, she’s done de bes’ she kin.  Go down, Gabriel, an’ tote her in.”  Den I specs to put on my golden slippers, my long white robe, an’ my starry crown, an’ walk dem golden streets, Hallelujah!’ I’ve known that dear, old soul to travel going on two miles, after her work was done, to have some one read to her.  Her favorite chapter began with, ’Let not your heart be troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in Me.’”

“I have been deeply impressed,” said Captain Sybil, “with the child-like faith of some of these people.  I do not mean to say that they are consistent Christians, but I do think that this faith has in a measure underlain the life of the race.  It has been a golden thread woven amid the sombre tissues of their lives.  A ray of light shimmering amid the gloom of their condition.  And what would they have been without it?”

“I don’t know.  But I know what she was with it.  And I believe if there are any saints in glory, Aunt Kizzy is one of them.”

“She is dead, then?”

“Yes, went all right, singing and rejoicing until the last, ’Troubles over, troubles over, and den my troubles will be over.  We’ll walk de golden streets all ‘roun’ in de New Jerusalem.’  Now, Captain, that’s the kind of religion that I want.  Not that kind which could ride to church on Sundays, and talk so solemn with the minister about heaven and good things, then come home and light down on the servants like a thousand of bricks.  I have no use for it.  I don’t believe in it.  I never did and I never will.  If any man wants to save my soul he ain’t got to beat my body.  That ain’t the kind of religion I’m looking for.  I ain’t got a bit of use for it.  Now, Captain, ain’t I right?”