“But then, you see, there was enough saved from the wreckage after all to keep me alive,” and Miss Catalpa smiled again. “All that troubles me is what will become of Uncle Simmy when I am gone. He insists on ‘dribin de quality’, as he calls it, and so earns a little something for himself. That livery he wears is the old Grogan livery. I expect it is a good deal faded by now,” she laughed, adding: “Our old barouche, too! He insists on taking me out in it every pleasant Sunday. I can feel that the cushions are ragged and that the wheels wobble. Po’ Uncle Simmy! Ah! here he is. Surely, Simmy, the rain hasn’t stopped?”
“No’m, Miss Catalpa,” said the old negro, appearing and bowing again. “But mebbe ‘twon’t stop soon, an’ deseyer young ladies want t’ git back fo’ luncheon at de hotel. I done fix’ dat hood, misses. ‘Twell keep yo’ dry.”
Ruth took the lady’s hand again. “I am glad to have met you,” she said, her voice quite firm now. “If we stay long enough at the Point, may we come and see you again?”
“Sho’ly! Sho’ly, my dear,” she said, drawing Ruth down to kiss her cheek. “I love to have you young people about me. Take good care of them, Uncle Simmy.”
“Ya-as’m, Miss Catalpa— Ah sho’ will.”
She kissed Helen, too, and possibly felt the tears on the girl’s cheek. She patted the hand she held and whispered: “Don’t weep for me, my dear. I am going to a better and a brighter world some day, I know. I am not through with this one yet—and I love it. There is nothing to weep for.”
“And if I were she I’d not only cry my eyes blind, but I’d cry them out!” whispered Helen to Ruth, as they followed the old coachman.
When they were out of ear-shot of the Lady of the Gatehouse Ruth asked: “Who keeps house for Miss Grogan, Uncle Simmy?”
“Fo’ Miss Catalpa?” ejaculated the negro. “Sho’, missy, she don’t need nobody but Unc’ Simmy.”
“There is no woman servant?”