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Updated: May 10, 2025
As they followed the narrow, straggling path into the cool dusk of the woods, she began to sing. The crooning chant was as mournful as a funeral dirge. "The clouds hang heavy, an' it's gwine to rain. Fa'well, my dyin' friends. I'm gwine to lie in the silent tomb. Fa'well, my dyin' friends." A muffled little sob made her stop and look down in surprise.
Fa'well, my dyin' friends," she sang. Lloyd put her arms closer around her mother's neck. "Let's talk about Papa Jack," she said. "What you 'pose he's doin' now, 'way out West?" Elizabeth, feeling like a tired, homesick child herself, held her close, and was comforted as she listened to the sweet little voice talking about the absent father.
"Why, what's the mattah, honey?" she exclaimed. "Did Emma Louise make you mad? Or is you cryin' 'cause you're so ti'ed? Come! Ole Becky'll tote her baby the rest of the way." She picked the light form up in her arms, and, pressing the troubled little face against her shoulder, resumed her walk and her song. "It's a world of trouble we're travellin' through, Fa'well, my dyin' friends."
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