"Um, um," the mother crooned, patting the girl's hands.
"Sing for me, Mammy."
"You must git inter my lap, den. Reckon it'll hold a lil' flower like you."
"This is better." The girl knelt so that her head came on her mother's breast. "Now sing."
"What'll I sing fer yer?"
"Oh, anything. Sing 'Nobody knows de trouble I's seen.'"
"Laws, chile, does yer feel as bad as all dat! Poor lil' lily. An' you was lookin' a rosebud dis mornin'. Dey cer'enly don' know much 'bout carin' fer my flower up dar." Then, smoothing the girl's hair with her strong hand, she sang:
"Nobody knows de trouble I's seen,
Nobody knows but Jesus.
Nobody knows de trouble I's seen,
Glory Hallelujah."
The people at the great house were nervous, tiring; but mammy was restful like the deep, lower waters of a stream. Her mellow voice sang on:
"I know de Lawd, I know de Lawd,
I know de Lawd has laid his hands on me."