At first I was frightened, thinking her mind wandered. But directly I
saw that towards the right, and a little in advance of us, was a misty
spot of light.

When we were near enough to see where it came from, it seemed as if all
my strength left me at once,--the relief was so sudden.

'Twas a squaw's hut. I knew then just where we were. I climbed up the
bank, with Margaret in my arms, and pounded with all my might upon the
side of the hut, calling out, "For God's sake, open the door!" A latch
rattled close to my ears, and a door flew open. 'Twas Old Suke. I had,
many a time, when a boy, called out to her, "Black clouds arising!"--for
we always would torment the colored folks, when they came down with
their brooms.

I pushed past her into the hut,--into the midst of rushes, brooms, and
baskets,--into a shelter. I never knew before what the word meant.

The fireplace was full of blazing pine-knots, which made the room as
light as day. Old Suke showed herself a Christian. She told me where to
find a shed for my horse; and while I was gone, she took the wet things
off Margaret, and rubbed her hands and feet with snow. She took red
peppers from a string over the fireplace, boiled them in milk, and made
us drink it. I thought of "heaping coals of fire." She dipped up hulled
corn from a pot on the hearth, and made us eat. I felt like singing the
song of Mungo Park.

Margaret kept pretty still. I knew the reason. The warm blood was
rushing back to her fingers and toes, and they ached like the toothache.