CHAPTER I.

AN ECHO.

"O de worl am roun an de worl am wide--
O Lord, remember your chillun in de mornin!
It's a mighty long way up de mountain side,
An day aint no place whar de sinners kin hide,
When de Lord comes in de mornin."


With a plaintive quirk of the voice the singer paused, gayly flicked the
strings of the banjo, then put her hand flat upon them to stop the
vibration and smiled round on her admirers. The group were applauding
heartily. A chorus said, "Another verse, please, Mrs. Detlor."

"Oh, that's all I know, I'm afraid," was the reply. "I haven't sung it for
years and years, and I should have to think too hard--no, no, believe me,
I can't remember any more. I wish I could, really."

A murmur of protest rose, but there came through the window faintly yet
clearly a man's voice:

"Look up an look aroun,
Fro you burden on de groun"--

The brown eyes of the woman grew larger. There ran through her smile a
kind of frightened surprise, but she did not start nor act as if the
circumstance were singular.