During the conversation which followed, Mrs. Grey learned that as a battle was imminent at the front it was impossible to pass her through the lines (which had been her hope when she consented to see the officer).  It was equally impossible to remain where she was.  Her only place of refuge was her mother’s home in Maryland, where she had been raised, and had lived previous to her marriage.

Promising to arrange for her transportation to the nearest railroad station, the kind-hearted officer took his leave.

When Maum Winnie was told of the proposed journey, she was greatly troubled.  But when Mrs. Grey further informed her that she was free and not expected to make one of the party, her distress knew no bounds.  Rushing out of the cabin, she seated herself on a log at some distance, and, throwing her apron over her head, rocked her body to and fro, wailing out, “Oh, my hebbenly Marster, ’pears like I aint fitten to bar all dis trouble.  An’ how dem dar gwine to do ’out ole Winnie?”

After a while, drawing her pipe and tobacco from her pocket, she sought the comfort of a smoke.  Just then, Ruthy, the cook, made her appearance with a large bucket on her head.  Flaunting past the old woman, she entered the kitchen without a word, and set about preparing a supper for the hungry inmates of the cabin.  Where the material came from she declared was “her bizness,” and her saucy manner and independent talk so confounded Maum Winnie that she asked no more questions, concluding that “Mars Yankee sont ’em an’ made dat gal fotch ’em.”

Mrs. Grey and Nelly had few preparations to make for the morrow.  The child, soon after sunset, threw herself across the foot of the high feather-bed which stood in a corner of the cabin, and slept soundly.  Maum Winnie, taking off her shoes, bustled about in her stocking-feet, apparently very busy.  Her movements were for some time unobserved by her mistress, who was lost in thought.  At last, kneeling before the fireplace, she reached up the chimney and brought out from its hiding-place an old, black tea-pot, with a broken spout.  From this she took several papers of dried “yarbs,” some watermelon-seed, an old thimble, a broken tea-spoon, a lock of “de ole man’s ha’r,” and lastly, the foot of an old stocking, firmly tied up.

This last it took some time to undo, but finally, approaching Mrs. Grey, she turned out into the astonished lady’s lap what proved to be a collection of gold and silver coins, the hoarded savings of years, the gift of many whom she had served.

“Why, Winnie,” said Mrs. Grey, “what does this mean?  Where did you get this money, and why do you give it to me?”

“Wall, Miss Ellen, yo’ see, ez fur back ez ole mass an’ mistes’ time, me an’ my ole man usen to wait on de wite genplums an’ ladies wot come to de big house, an’ de ole man he mity clus-fisted, an’ nebber spen’ nuffin, an’ sence he die, an’ ole mass an’ miss dey gone, too, Mars Ned he dun tuk mity good keer of ole Winnie, an’ I nebber bin had no excessity to spend dat money, so I’s kep’ it an’ kep’ it, ontwill ’pears like de Lawd he dun pint out de way fur it to go.  ’Sides, we all’s gwine way off yander, an’ we can’t ’pear no ways ’spectable ’dout little cash money.”