you-all are mistaken 'bout her bein' crool. Oh, dear bruddahs an'
sistahs, she ain't! You-all knows my--my boy"--she choked over the word,
and the hearers waited in mute and awkward compassion, because her boy,
the last of her children, had been hanged at the little county-seat only
a month before for the murder of his wife--"my boy w'u'dn't repent; he
w'u'dn't do nuffin but cuss de woman dat fotch him dar an' den nebber so
much look at him. I spen' ever' las' cent I had on earth to try git him
off, an' I taken de jail wash, I did, to be nigh 'im an' mabbe git him a
bite like he's uster to eat; but he w'u'dn't paht lips wid me; sayd I
be'n a good mudder to him, but he didn't want to h'ar me beggin' an'
pleadin' wid 'im to repent an' make peace wid God. Oh, I did be'n in de
brack water, wadin' _deep_! Look laak I c'u'dn't enjure hit nohow. I
reckon I does nebber be able to see so well 'cause I cry so stiddy dem
days. An' all de cry of my po' ol' hairt be'n, 'O Lawd, I don' no mo' ax
you to save his life, but, O Lawd, _don'_ let 'im die cussin'! Fotch 'im
'ome! I kin b'ar hit to have 'im go, if he sho' goes whar he kin be good
an' be happy an' be safe; fo' I does know dat boy nev' did aim to be
mean.' An' w'en my hairt be'n broke wid longin' an' mis'ry, Sist'
Humphreys she come. She done holp me all fru; an' now she went to my
boy; he _hatter_ see her. I don' know w'at she say; but she come back to
me an' say, 'Praise God, dat po' sinnah hab foun' peace an' joy--an' he
want his mudder!' An' I did come. An' he putt his po' haid on my knees
jes lak w'en he be'n a li'le boy an' uster laff 'bout de big
kin'lin'-pile he allers keep fo' his mammy. An' Sist' Humphreys, some
way she git dem jailer-men be so kin' an' tender to 'im, lak I cayn't
noways tell. An' he did die happy. De Lawd sustain him, an' he sustain
me. Blessed be de name of de Lawd, an' blessed be dat 'oman dat is his
ministah!"

She sank down in her seat and wept quietly, while the impressionable
African temperament sent forth pious ejaculations: "Holp, Lawd!" "Fotch
comfort!" "Bless de mo'nahs!" The schoolmistress was in tears, and the
stalwart young man near her openly wiped his eyes. Brother Moore bent
his brows; even Brother Morrow winked hard: but Sister Susannah's
emotion was most in evidence; she was sobbing violently into a
pink-embroidered handkerchief. Presently she rose to her feet. Now
Susannah was the woman who had lured the wretched murderer through a