A cart approached piled high with household goods.
"Let's ride, Mandy!" Jennie cried.
"Yassam, dat's what I says, too," the little black maid eagerly agreed.
The cart belonged to a neighbor. It was driven by an old negro man.
"Let us ride, uncle!" Jennie called.
The old man pulled his reins quickly and laughed good-naturedly.
"Dat you shall, Honey. De name er Gawd, ter see Miss Jennie Barton
settin' here in dis dirty road!"
He helped them climb to seats on the top of his load. Jennie found a
berth between a flour barrel and mattress, while Mandy sat astride of an
enormous bundle of bed clothes. Lucy scrambled up beside the driver.
The hot sun was pouring its fierce rays down without mercy. The old
negro pulled a faded umbrella from beneath his seat, raised it, and
handed it to Jennie with a grand bow.
"Thank you, uncle. You certainly are good to us!"
"Yassam--yassam--I wish I could do mo', honey chile. De ve'y idee er dem
slue-footed Yankees er shellin' our town an' scerin' all our ladies ter
death. Dey gwine ter pay fur all dis 'fore dey git through."
Three miles out they began to overtake the main body of the fugitives
who escaped at the first mad rush. Hundreds of bedraggled women and
children were toiling along the dust-covered road in the blistering sun,
some bare-headed, some with hats on, some with street clothes, others
with their morning wrappers just as they had fled from their unfinished
breakfast.
Pages:
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350