Every hour or two she would pop in into Aunt Abby's room with some strange query: "She got into the RIVER again, Aunt Abby, didn't she; the Jordan is a big one to tumble into, any how.

S'posen she goes to hell, she'll be as black as I am.

Wouldn't mistress be mad to see her a nigger!" and others of a similar stamp, not at all acceptable to the pious, sympathetic dame; but she could not evade them.
The family returned from their sorrowful journey, leaving the dead behind.

Nig looked for a change in her tyrant; what could subdue her, if the loss of her idol could not?
Never was Mrs.B.known to shed tears so profusely, as when she reiterated to one and another the sad particulars of her darling's sickness and death.

There was, indeed, a season of quiet grief; it was the lull of the fiery elements.