libed wid got hard up fer money, an’ dey sole me one way an’ my pore little gal de oder; an’ I neber laid my eyes on my pore chillen sence den.  But, honeys, let de wind blow high or low, I ’spects to outwedder de storm an’ anchor by’m bye in bright glory.  But I’se bin a prayin’ fer one thing, an’ I beliebs I’ll git it; an’ dat is dat I may see my chillen ‘fore I die.  Pray fer me dat I may hole out an’ hole on, an’ neber make a shipwrack ob faith, an’ at las’ fine my way from earth to glory.”

Having finished her speech, she sat down and wiped away the tears that flowed all the more copiously as she remembered her lost children.  When she rose to speak her voice and manner instantly arrested Robert’s attention.  He found his mind reverting to the scenes of his childhood.  As she proceeded his attention became riveted on her.  Unbidden tears filled his eyes and great sobs shook his frame.  He trembled in every limb.  Could it be possible that after years of patient search through churches, papers, and inquiring friends, he had accidentally stumbled on his mother—­the mother who, long years ago, had pillowed his head upon her bosom and left her parting kiss upon his lips?  How should he reveal himself to her?  Might not sudden joy do what years of sorrow had failed to accomplish?  Controlling his feelings as best he could, he rose to tell his experience.  He referred to the days when they used to hold their meetings in the lonely woods and gloomy swamps.  How they had prayed for freedom and plotted to desert to the Union army; and continuing, he said:  “Since then, brethren and sisters, I have had my crosses and trials, but I try to look at the mercies.  Just think what it was then and what it is now!  How many of us, since freedom has come, have been looking up our scattered relatives.  I have just been over to visit my old mistress, Nancy Johnson, and to see if I could get some clue to my long-lost mother, who was sold from me nearly thirty years ago.”

Again there was a chorus of moans.

On resuming, Robert’s voice was still fuller of pathos.

“When,” he said, “I heard that dear old mother tell her experience it seemed as if some one had risen from the dead.  She made me think of my own dear mother, who used to steal out at night to see me, fold me in her arms, and then steal back again to her work.  After she was sold away I never saw her face again by daylight.  I have been looking for her ever since the war, and I think at last I have got on the right track.  If Mrs. Johnson, who kept the boarding-house in C——­, is the one who sold that dear old mother from her son, then she is the one I am looking for, and I am the son she has been praying for.”