Then Betty said they must go, and Aunt Priscilla tartly rejoined that they might look in and see whether she was dead or alive.
"Can I come and see Solomon again?" asked Doris.
"Of course, since Solomon is head of the house."
"Thank you," returned Doris simply, not understanding the sarcasm.
"Wonderful how Solomon liked little missy," said Polly, straightening the chairs and restoring order.
"My head aches with all the talking," said Aunt Priscilla. "I want to be alone."
But she felt a little conscience-smitten as Polly stepped about in the kitchen getting supper and sang in a thick, soft, but rather quivering voice, her favorite hymn:
"'Hark, from the tombs a doleful sound,
Mine ears, attend the cry.'"
Yes, Polly was a faithful old creature, only she had grown forgetful, and she was losing her strength, and black people gave out suddenly. But there, what was the use of borrowing trouble, and the idea of having a child around to train and stew over, and no doubt she would be getting married just the time when she, Mrs. Perkins, would need her the most. The Lord hadn't seen fit to give her any children to comfort her old age; after all, would she want a delicate little thing like this child with a heathenish name!
It was quite chilly now, and Doris, holding Betty's hand tight, skipped along merrily, her heart strangely warm and gay.