“Miss Lucie Du Bois? Why do you want to know?”
“Well, miss, she mighty nice an’ kin’, an’ I thinkin’ maybe I kin do some chores fo’ huh.”
“But you are away on sick leave; you shouldn’t be doing any work.”
“Doctah he say fo’ me to git outen de trenches an’ into de open a’r whar de guns isn’t so rambuctious. He don’t say nothin’ bout me doin’ little easy chores lak totin’ watah an’ fetchin’ in de wood.”
“Very well, Gus, if that is the way you feel about it, Miss Du Bois lives beyond the church. I will show you. When you leave her come back here to me and by that time I will have found a place for you.” She watched him on his way down the street, then she turned to Mrs. Graves. “I didn’t believe there was one of his variety left. He is an old timer. I’ll venture to say he was brought up by a grandmother of the good old sort.” In which conjecture she was perfectly right.
Lucie, working in the garden, was surprised to hear a soft voice at her side saying: “Miss Lucie, ain’t dey nothin’ I kin do fo’ yuh?”
Lucie looked up to see the tall form of the darkey. “Why, Gus,” she exclaimed. “How is it you are here?”
Gus explained, ending by saying: “’Pears to me lak it mo’ lak home folks when yo ma come fum ole Ferginny.”
“Are you homesick, Gus?” Lucie asked sympathetically.
“Well, Miss Lucie, I mought be ef I was by mahse’f with dese yer Frenchies, but bein’ as I’m hyar I ain’t.”