Then came the dividing. We all watched with all our eyes to see what
the shares would be. My mother broke a mouthful of bread and put it on
each of the tin plates. Then she took the old spoon and equally
divided the pea soup. We children were seated around the fire, with
some little wooden spoons. But the wooden spoons didn't quite go
round, and some of us had to eat with our fingers. Our share of the
meal, however, was so small that we were as hungry when we finished as
when we began.

My mother said, "Take that rag and wipe your face and hands, and give
it to the others and let them use it, too. Put those plates upon the
table." We immediately obeyed orders, and took our seats again around
the fire. "One of you go and pull that straw out of the corner and get
ready to go to bed." We all lay down on the straw, the white children
with us, and my mother covered us over with the blanket. We were soon
in the "Land of Nod," forgetting our empty stomachs. The two mothers
still continued to talk, sitting down on the only seats, a couple of
blocks. A little back against the wall my mother and the white woman
slept.

Bright and early in the morning we were called up, and the rest of the
hoe cake was eaten for breakfast, with a little meat, some coffee
sweetened with molasses. The little wanderers and their mother shared
our meal, and then they started again on their journey towards their
home among their kinsfolk, and we never saw them again. My mother
said, "God bless you! I wish you all good luck. I hope you will reach
your home safely." Then mother said to us, "You young ones put away
that straw and sweep up the place, because I have to go to my work."
But she came at noon and brought us a nice dinner, more satisfactory
than the supper and breakfast we had had. We children were delighted