Mom Beck's voice floated in from the kitchen, where she was stepping
briskly around.

"Oh, the clouds hang heavy, an' it's gwine to rain.
Fa'well, my dyin' friends,"

she sang.

Lloyd put her arms closer around her mother's neck.

"Let's talk about Papa Jack," she said. "What you 'pose he's doin' now,
'way out West?"

Elizabeth, feeling like a tired, homesick child herself, held her close,
and was comforted as she listened to the sweet little voice talking
about the absent father.

The moon came up after awhile, and streamed in through the vines of
the porch. The hazel eyes slowly closed as Elizabeth began to hum an
old-time negro lullaby.

"Wondah if she'll run away to-morrow," whispered Mom Beck, as she came
out to carry her in the house.

"Who'd evah think now, lookin' at her pretty, innocent face, that she
could be so naughty? Bless her little soul!"

The kind old black face was laid lovingly a moment against the fair,
soft cheek of the Little Colonel. Then she lifted her in her strong
arms, and carried her gently away to bed.