to leave me alone. An' folks along de
way, dey'd take me in an' feed me. Dey'd give me a place to stay an fix
me up a lunch to take along. Dey'd say, "Clara, you's a good nigger.
You's a goin' home to your ol' miss, so we's goin' to do for you."

An' I got within five miles of home before dey catch me. An' my ol' miss
won't let me go back. She keep me an' send another one in my place. An'
de war kept on, an ol' massa had to go. An' word come dat he been
killed.

Yes, 'em, some folks run off, an' some of 'em stayed. Finally ol' miss
refugeed a lot of us to California. What is it to refugee. Well, you
see, suppose you was afraid dat somebody go in' to take your property
an' you run 'em away off somewhere--how you come to know.

When de war was over, young miss she come in an she say, 'Clara, you's
as free as I am.' 'No, I ain't.' says I. 'Yes, you is,' says she. 'What
you goin' to do?' 'I's goin' to stay an' work for you.' says I. 'No'
says she, 'you ain't cause I can't pay you.' 'Well,' says I, 'I'll go
home to see my old mother.' 'Tell you what,' says she, 'I ain't got nuff
money to send you, only part--so you go down to whar' dey is a'pannin'
gold. You kin git a Job at $2.00 per day.'

Many's a day I've stood in water up to my waist pannin' gold. In dem
days dey worked women jest like men. I worked hard, an' young miss took
care of me. When I got ready to come home I bought my stage fare an' I
carried $300 on me back to my ol' mother.

De trip took six weeks. Everywhere de stage would stop young miss had
writ a note to somebody and de stage coach men give it to 'em an dey
took care of me--good care.

When I got home to my mother I found dat ol' miss had give all of 'em
somthin' along with settin 'em free. My mother had 12 children so she
git de mos'. She git a horse, a milk cow, 8 killin' hogs and 50 bushels
of corn. She moved off to a little house on ol' miss's plantation and
make a crop on halvers. She stay on dar for three--four years. Den she
move off into another county where she could go to meetin without havin'
to cross de river. An' I stayed on wid her an help her farm--I could
plow as good as a man in dem days.

Finally I hear dat you could make more money in Hot Springs, so I come
to see. My mother was dead by dat time. De first year I made a crop for
Mr. Clay--my granddaughter cooks and tends to children for some of his
folks today. When I went to town an I washed at de Arlington hotel. It
wasn't de