After looking around to see whether any officer was in hearing, she
added:

"And do you think it right to rob us of our niggers, as the Yankees
are doing?"

"Certainly, if you call it robbery to allow the negroes to go where
they please."

My replies were in my common tone of voice, yet it seemed to frighten
her. She would take a look to see whether an officer was near. Then
would go on with her queries in an undertone.

"I tell you it is mighty hard, for my pa paid his own money for our
niggers; and that's not all they've robbed us of. They have taken our
horses and cattle and sheep _and every thing_."

As I had my little Bible in my hand, I turned to the predicted
destruction of Babylon in Revelation, and read, "Fine flour, and
wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves,
and souls of men." "You see here," I said, "are the very articles you
have named. And God is the same unchanging Lord to-day."

"But I tell you, madam, its mighty, mighty hard."

In all this conversation she closely watched the officers, and often
raised her handkerchief to her face while talking with me, as if to
check the sound of her already stifled voice. How widely different
were our positions, compared with six years before, when going down