"When we was all slaves dey was sold away from me, down in Alabama, I reckon, and I never expec' to see any of 'em ag'in."
"That is very hard, Nancy," said Mrs. Kenyon, roused to sympathy.
"So it is, Mis' Kenyon," said Nancy, wiping her eyes; "but I hope to see 'em in a better land."
Then Nancy, pausing in her rowing, began to sing in an untrained but rich voice a rude plantation hymn:
"We'se all a-goin',
We'se all a-goin',
We'se all a-goin',
To de Promised Land.
"We shall see our faders.