"Huh!" snorted mammy. "Yo' jes come along outen this night air, bof of
yo', an' have yo' suppah. Come on along, Miss Ann. Come on along, yo'
young Miss Natalie."

"Just a minute, mammy; in just a minute," gasped Natalie. "You go put
supper on the table." Then she rose to her feet, and drew her mother up
to her. "Kiss me," she said and smiled. She was suddenly strong again
with the strength of youth.

Ann kissed her and she, too, almost smiled.

"Well, dear?" she said.

"We're going away," said Natalie, holding protecting arms around her
mother. "We're going to sell this place, and then we're just going away
into another world. This one's too rough for just women. We'll go see
that old house Aunt Jed left to me. I want to live just once in a house
that has had more than one life."

Day after day the ship moved steadily northward on an even keel. Upon
mammy, Natalie, and Mrs. Leighton a miracle began to descend. Years fell
from their straightening shoulders. At the end of a week, Ann Leighton,
kneeling alone in her cabin, began her nightly devotions with a paean
that sounded strangely in her own ears: "Oh, Thou Who hast redeemed my
life from destruction, crowned me with loving-kindness and tender
mercies, Who hast satisfied my mouth with good things so that my youth
is renewed like the eagle's!"