He said a prayer as he tried to dry his clothes, Then he looked for a stone and threw it into the river. “You’se a mean and hungry river,” he said. “You is. Heah’s a present for you. I hope it busts up your teef. Heah’s a present fum Mistah Spade.” He felt better then, But his belly started to ache. “Act patient,” he said, Rubbing it gently, “We’se loose in Freedom’s land, Crossed old Jordan⁠—bound to get vittles now.”

He started out for the town. The town wasn’t far But he had to go slow. Sometimes he fell on the way. The last time he fell was in front of a little yard With a white, well-painted fence. A woman came out. “Get along,” she said. “You can’t get sick around here. I’m tired of you nigger tramps. You’re all of you thieves.” Spade rose and said something vague about swimming rivers And vittles. She stamped her foot. “Get along!” she said, “Get along or I’ll call the dog and⁠—” Spade got along.