"That was faith," said Captain Sybil, as if speaking to himself, "a
patient waiting for death to redress the wrongs of life."

"Many a time," continued Robert, "have I heard her humming to herself in
the kitchen and saying, 'I has my trials, ups and downs, but it won't
allers be so. I specs one day to wing and wing wid de angels,
Hallelujah! Den I specs to hear a voice sayin', "Poor ole Kizzy, she's
done de bes' she kin. Go down, Gabriel, an' tote her in." Den I specs to
put on my golden slippers, my long white robe, an' my starry crown, an'
walk dem golden streets, Hallelujah!' I've known that dear, old soul to
travel going on two miles, after her work was done, to have some one
read to her. Her favorite chapter began with, 'Let not your heart be
troubled, ye believe in God, believe also in Me.'"

"I have been deeply impressed," said Captain Sybil, "with the child-like
faith of some of these people. I do not mean to say that they are
consistent Christians, but I do think that this faith has in a measure
underlain the life of the race. It has been a golden thread woven amid
the sombre tissues of their lives. A ray of light shimmering amid the
gloom of their condition. And what would they have been without it?"

"I don't know. But I know what she was with it. And I believe if there
are any saints in glory, Aunt Kizzy is one of them."

"She is dead, then?"

"Yes, went all right, singing and rejoicing until the last,
'Troubles over, troubles over, and den my troubles will be over. We'll
walk de golden streets all 'roun' in de New Jerusalem.' Now, Captain,
that's the kind of religion that I want. Not that kind which could ride