“Oh! the poor dear!” gasped Helen, for she, like Ruth, discovered the little lady’s infirmity almost at once.
The old negro coachman pompously strode down the porch, beckoning to the girls to follow. They were, for the moment, embarrassed. It seemed impudent to approach this strange gentlewoman with no introduction save that of the disreputable looking Unc’ Simmy.
But the quick, sudden shower lulled a little and they could hear the lady’s voice—a sweet, delicious, drawling tone. She said:
“Yo’ have brought some callers, I see, Simmy. Good afternoon, young ladies.”
Her use of the word “see” brought the quick, stinging tears to Ruth Fielding’s eyes. But the lady’s smile and outstretched hand welcomed both girls to her end of the porch. The hand was frail and beautiful. It surely had never done any work more arduous than the knitting in the lady’s lap.
She was dressed very plainly in gingham; but every flaunce was starched and ironed beautifully, and the lace in the low-cut neck of the cheap gown and at the wrists, was valuable and ivory-hued with age.
The negro cleared his voice and said, with great respect, removing his ancient hat as he did so:
“De young ladies done tak’ refuge yere wid’ yo’ w’ile it shower so hard, Miss Catalpa. I tell ’em yo’ don’t mind dem comin’ in t’ res’. Yo’ knows Unc’ Simmy dribes de quality eround de P’int nowadays.”
“Oh, yes, Simmy. I know,” said Miss Catalpa, with a little sigh. “It isn’t as it used to be befo’ we had to take refuge, too, in this old gatehouse. It is a refuge both in sun and rain fo’ us. How do you do, my dears? I know you are young ladies—and I love the young. And I fancy you are from the No’th, too?”
And Helen and Ruth had not yet said a word! The subtle appreciation of the blind woman told her much that astonished the girls.