"We have no need of any more help," she said.
"Oh, yes; Jube be great help—jis take me, madame, you see—no be sorry, no indeed."
"I would willingly, for the child's sake, but we are not rich; my husband could not afford to pay you wages."
"Jube not want wages—no good of money. Please let Jube stay, lady."
Mrs. Prior went up to the study to hold a private consultation with her husband; while she was gone, Paul and Rose passed through the kitchen.
At the sight of the negro, the boy gave a cry of delight, and rushed into his arms, with a burst of tears and wild ejaculations. Jube sobbed aloud, and it was some time before either of them could in the least recover their composure.
Rose stood looking at them in great astonishment; but when Paul managed to explain that this was the Jube of whom he had told her, she cried and laughed also, from pure sympathy, while the handmaiden worked herself into such a state of bewilderment that she laid the forks where the spoons belonged, put an empty tin pan into the oven, instead of the pudding, which was ready for baking, and performed a variety of other wonderful feats, which brought great disgrace upon her shortly after.
When Mrs. Prior and the clergyman came down-stairs, they found Paul nestled close to his old friend, and looking so happy that the very idea of refusing the negro's request sent a pang to their hearts.
"Jube must stay," Paul cried, in his exquisitely persuasive way; "please to say yes, good madame—shan't he stay, sir?"
The clergyman looked at his wife, and she looked back at him; both were extremely perplexed.