"Wantworth—Wentworth," repeated the old woman. "No, dat don't sound like de name ob de lady, but may be I forget. What was de leetle gal name?" she added.
"Ella," replied Elsy.
"Dat's it," exclaimed the old negro, "dat's de berry name!"
"Den it was my mistis and her childen," answered Elsy, "and you say de police take her to prison for stealin."
"Yes, gal," she answered, "dey take her away from de dead body ob her chile and take her to prison for stealin."
"It ain't true," said Elsy, "my mistis is a born lady, and she wouldn't steal for anyting. I don't beliebe a word ob it."
"I don't beliebe neider," replied the old woman, "but for all dat, dey did carry her to prison because dey say she steal money."
"My poh mistis," remarked Elsy, bursting into tears, "I knowed dat some bad ting would happen to her—and I was in town so long and neber eben sawed her."
"Poh lady," observed the old negro, "she look bery bad and sorrowful like, aldough she didn't cry when de chile die; but she tan up by de bedside and look 'pon de dead face widout sayin' a word—it made me feel bad to see her."
"I must tell my master," said Elsy, "so dat he can go and take her out ob prison. It am a shame dat a lady like dat should be locked up in a prison, and Mr. Wentworth will soon take her out."