“I’m a girl,” Berry announced. “You can’t hide out in the woods; it’s too cold. You’ll freeze,” she added quickly. “And you need not be afraid of me. I’ll help you.”
The negro girl stared at Berry as if even more frightened than before.
“Wot yo’ dressed up dis way for?” she asked.
“Never mind about me,” Berry replied, “but do as I say. If you will come with me you can have something warm to eat and drink, anyway. Then if you want to keep on running away you can.”
For a moment the little white girl, rosy, well clad, and unafraid, and the gaunt, half-clothed, frightened black girl faced each other. Then a softer expression crept over the face of the negro girl, and she took a step toward Berry. “I’se gwine ter trus’ yo’, young Mass—Missie,” she said softly.
Berry nodded. “Nobody shall hurt you,” she promised soberly. “And let’s run, or Father will be coming to find me.”
But the negro girl shook her head dolefully. “I cyan’t run, young Mass—Missie; my feetes is hurt,” and now for the first time Berry noticed that the girl’s legs were bare, and that her feet were protected from the rough, frozen ground only by worn pieces of cloth, tied about with string. And at this Berry exclaimed pityingly:
“Your poor feet! Well, we’ll go easy,” and she clasped the girl’s thin arm, and started forward.
The negro girl did not speak again until they came in sight of the cabin, then she stopped suddenly. “Yo’ ain’ gwine ter let nobuddy sen’ me back ter Alabamy?” she asked fearfully.
Berry’s clasp on the girl’s arm tightened. “I am going to help you, I am going to be your friend!” she promised earnestly. And the slave girl, meeting the pitying, friendly glance of Berry’s brown eyes, was convinced that the impossible had happened; that a runaway slave girl had really found a friend. From that moment she had full confidence in Berry; whatever Berry told her to do she did instantly, sure that no harm could befall her as long as Berry was near.