She ate her supper and washed the dishes, and gave the little kitchen
a stroke or two with her broom, and yet the music from the library
came stealing in as sad-voiced and heavy as ever.

"'Pears as if he'd never eat his supper," Hagar grumbled; "de chile
can't live on music, allers, nohow. Reckon he'll nebber hab much
sperits till he eats more. But jes' stop yer talkin', chile, ye can't
do nuffin' but trust de Lord."

By and by the wandering notes ceased, and in the deep silence there
came up the hoarse and awful roar of the surf, with the wailing of the
wind over the chimney, and filled the house with their echoes. Hagar
heaped wood on the fire, drew her little low chair nearer the light
and gladsome blaze, shivering and muttering as she did so. She had a
great dread of cold and darkness, and the deep hush, broken by the
clamor of the sea, made her afraid.

"De Lord's about," said she, drawing her old woollen shawl close
around her; "de Lord's on de sea, an' 'pears like nobody need be
feared when he holds it in his hand like as I holds dis yer silber ob
Mas'r Noll's dat he lost under de rug in de dinin'-room,"--looking
down at the shining coin which she had picked up that morning, and
wondering where the boy was at that moment. "'Pears as ef de sunshine
had been hid de whole time sence he went off to de city," she
muttered, gazing in the coals. "Wonder ef Mas'r Dick misses him?
Wonder ef dis yer ole woman won't be tickled 'nuff to see him when de
day comes? Ki! Hagar, ye knows ye will."

The roar of the sea and the cry of the wind came in again, more
lonesome, sadder than ever. The old negress shivered, peered about her
into the dark corners of the kitchen, and crooned to herself,--a wild,
monotonous air, set to words which came to her lips for the
occasion:--

"Oh, Hagar, don't ye know
De Lord's on de sea?
He rides on de waves,
And de wind is in his hand,--
De Lord keeps dem all!

What ye feared of, Hagar? Kase, don't ye know de Lord's in it? 'Pears
like ye done forget dat de whole time--Now!" and she broke into her
rhymeless chant again. It was only a way she had got of setting her
thoughts to music, drawing the words out very slowly, and weaving to
and fro the while. When she had repeated her first lines, she kept on
with her thoughts, peering over her shoulder at the flickering shadows
which the fire cast on the wall behind her, shivering with awe at the
clamor wit