The old woman's face fell. "I hopes I ain't live to see mah ole mistis' gran'child bo'din' in a common bo'din' house, 'thout no lady to give her countenance an' make it proper fo' her beaux to come an' see her. No, ma'am, I hopes I ain't live to see dat."
"But, Mammy, what can I do? I haven't any very near relatives down here, you know, and none nearly related anywhere, certainly not near enough for me to invite myself to their homes. I can't afford a chaperone, and besides I am sure I am well enough known in town to be treated with respect wherever I may happen to live."
"I ain't say yuh isn't, but what I do say is dat it ain't fittin' an' proper fo' one of de fambly to go off to bo'd thes anywhar lak common folks."
"Then please to tell me what I am to do. Pshaw! Mammy, it's nonsense to talk as if I were a princess. We've got to face facts—plain, every-day facts. I must make my living, and I am lucky to be able to do it in a nice, ladylike way, in my own town and among my own friends."
Mammy began to pick at the crabs again, working away sullenly. She knew these were facts, but she rebelled against the existence of them. She thought seriously over the situation for some minutes. "If yuh goes, I goes," at last she reiterated. "Miss Ri Hill she tell me laughin' like, mo' times dan one, 'When yuh wants a place, Phebe, mah kitchen ready fo' yuh.' She ain't think I uvver leave yuh-alls, but I knows she tek me ef she kin git me."
"Miss Ri Hill! Why, Mammy, that is an inspiration. She is the very one. Perhaps she will take me in, too," cried Linda.
"Praise de Lord! Ain't it de troof now? Co'se she tek yuh. 'Tain' nobody think mo' o' yuh dan Miss Ri. She yo' ma's bridesmaid, an' yuh always gre't fav'ite o' hers. Dat mek it cl'ar as day. She yuh-alls kin' an' she stan' fo' yuh lak home folks. When yuh gwine, Miss Lindy?"
"Oh, pretty soon, I think."
Just here the door opened and a high-pitched, rather sweet, but sentimentally pathetic voice said, "Phebe, have you forgotten that it is nearly supper time? Linda, dear, is that you? I wouldn't hinder Phebe just now. I was wondering where you were. I saw you walking about so energetically and am so glad you can take pleasure in outside things, for of course I couldn't expect you to appreciate my loneliness, a young girl like you is always so buoyant." A plaintive sigh followed, as Grace Talbot turned to go. She was a fair, plump young woman with an appealing expression, a baby mouth and wide-open eyes in which it was her effort to maintain a look of childish innocence. "Do try to have supper promptly, Phebe," she said as she reached the door. "Of course, I don't care for myself, as I eat very little, but Miss Linda must be hungry after her walk."