“Lor’ bress yo’,” chuckled the black man, “ain’t been no money to pay sarbents since dat Needleses’ Bank done busted. Nebber did hear tell o’ sech a bustification as dat. Dar warn’t re’lly nottin’ lef’ fo’ de rats in de cellar. Das wot Kunnel Wildah say.”
Ruth looked at the old man seriously and with a glance that saw right into the white soul that dwelt in his very black and crippled body: “Who launders her frocks so beautifully—and your trousers, Unc’ Simmy?” was her innocent if somewhat impudent question.
“Ma ol’ woman done hit till she up an’ died ’bout eight ’r nine years ago,” said the coachman.
“And you have done it all since?”
“Oh, ya-as’m! ya-as’m!” exclaimed Unc’ Simmy, briskly. “Miss Catalpa wouldn’t feel right if she knowed anybody else did fo’ her but me—No’m!”
Helen had gone ahead. The old man, his eyes lowered, stood before Ruth in the rain. The girl opened her purse quickly, selected a five dollar bill, and thrust it into his hand.
“Thank you, Unc’ Simmy,” she said firmly. “That’s all I wanted to know.”
A tear found a wrinkle in Unc’ Simmy’s lined face for a sluiceway; but the darkey was still smiling. “Lor’ bress you’, honey!” he murmured. “I dunno wot Unc’ Simmy would do if ‘twarn’t fo’ yo’ rich folks from de Norf. Ah got a lot to t’ank you-uns for ’sides ma freedom! An’ so’s Miss Catalpa,” he added, “on’y she don’t know it.”
“Come along, Ruth!” cried Helen, hopping into the old carriage, the cover of which was now lifted and tied into place. Then, when Ruth joined her and Unc’ Simmy climbed to his seat and spread the oilcloth over his knees, she added, in a whisper: “I saw you, Ruth Fielding! Five dollars! Talk about me being extravagant. Why, I gave him only two dollars for the whole ride.”
“It was worth five to meet Miss Catalpa, wasn’t it?” returned her chum, placidly. And in her own mind she was already thinking up a scheme by which the faithful old negro should be more substantially helped in his lifework of caring for his blind mistress.