I was sent
to preach."
For a moment there was silence, then the fine instinct of Phyllis
perceived that the conversation had reached exactly that point when
it demanded relief in order to effect its best ends. She went to the
piano and began to sing softly some tender little romance of home and
home joys. In the midst of it the squire and Elizabeth entered, and
the conversation turned upon Christmas observances. So, it fell out
naturally enough that Phyllis should speak of her southern home, and
describe the long rows of white cabins among the live oaks, and the
kind-hearted dusky dwellers in them; and, finally, as she became almost
tearful over her memories, she began to sing one of the "spirituals,"
then so totally unknown beyond plantation life, singing it _sotto
voce_, swaying her body gently to the melody, and softly clapping
her small hands as an accompaniment:
"My soul! Massa Jesus! My soul!
My soul!
Dar's a little thing lays in my heart,
An' de more I dig him, de better he spring:
My soul!
Dar's a little thing lays in my heart,
An' he set my soul on fire:
My soul!
Massa Jesus! My soul! My soul!"
Then changing the time and tune, she continued:
"De water deep, de water cold,
Nobody here to help me!
O de water rise! De water roll!
Nobody here to help me!
Dear Lord,
Nobody here to help me!"
She had to sing them and many others over and over.
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