the Merryvales, father and son. A little way from
them, by herself, was Ellen. Now they were going past the great house,
the trees were tossing their mossy beards and from the gallery Miss
Patty was waving to her. Cows grazed in the river, and high above a
turkey buzzard soared, gazing down to find death on the earth. Then the
river made a bend and the familiar world was gone.

Before she left the boat Hertha took out a letter from Tom and read it
once again. Tom had shown his thoughtfulness in every line. There was no
surprise in his receipt of the news and there was much gladness for her.
"Sister," he wrote, "we are all in a cage, we black folk. It's a big
cage, and we get used to it and have a good time in it, and after a
while we don't much notice when we strike our wings against the bars.
But it's a cage. Do you remember that funny, old white woman in the city
who used to let us look in her room and see her family of canaries? They
were breeding right there in her parlor, building their nests and
bringing up their young. Those canaries were just as busy and as much
taken up with their goings on as if they had been out in the trees. But
they were prisoners all the same. Well, they've opened the cage door for
you and set you free. It wasn't right for you to be shut up; it weren't
meant for you. Now you're free and folks won't come just to play with
you in your cage. I'm glad, Sister, and don't forget you're free."

"I wonder if I really am free," Hertha said to herself. "I'd like to
find out."

The railroad journey was uneventful to Miss Witherspoon, but full of
novelty to Hertha. Accustomed to the jim-crow coach, the Pullman with
its comfortable bed, its luxurious dining-car, was a revelation. But she
showed no sign of unfamiliarity and moved through the day, and even
climbed to her high perch at night as though it were a usual routine.
But all the time she was revolving a plan and wondering whether she
would have the courage to carry it out. She had told Ellen that she
could not go ahead and make things happen, but she felt that it was
possible, if you did not like a thing, quietly to avoid it. The
conception of freedom of which Tom wrote was taking a strong hold upon
her. As she lay awake looking up at the lighted ceiling of the car,
feeling the presence of the many people traveling like herself to the
strange North, people who were now of her world, she grew impatient at
the circumscription that was being prepa