dragged along, handcuffed in pairs, and their low, brutal, and profane
conversation was dreadful to Tidy. Oh, how often she wished she
had staid contentedly with Mammy Grace, and not tried to run away.
And yet her hope was not utterly gone, for she often caught herself saying,
with closed teeth, "Give me a chance, and I'll try it again."
Freedom looked too attractive to be entirely relinquished.

The gang halted at night, put up their tents, lighted fires and cooked
their mean repast. Then they stretched themselves on the bare ground
to sleep. In the morning, after the wretched breakfast was eaten,
the tents were struck, the wagons loaded again, and they started for
another day's travel,--and so on till the long, wearisome march was over.
It took them many weeks before they arrived at their destination.

There Tidy was soon resold, the trader making two hundred dollars
by the bargain, and she became the property of Mr. Turner,
who took her to Natchez, on the Mississippi River, where she became
waiting-maid to Mrs. Turner, his wife.

The poor girl was never the same in appearance after she left her
Virginia home. A deep pall seemed to have been thrown over her spirit,
and her hopes and happiness lay buried beneath it. Her disposition
had lost its buoyancy, and her face wore a sad, pensive look.
She tried to do her duty here as before, and her skill and neatness made
her a favorite. But there was no one here to care for her and love
her as Mammy Grace had done; and she missed the children sadly.
Her hymn-book was neglected; for when she opened it such a flood
of recollections came over her that the tears blinded her eyes
and she could not see a word, and she never now heard a prayer.
She was again in an irreligious family, and among an ungodly set