"You shall know to-night, Bertha, and I will be with you, if possible. But here, before we part, let's stop and buy some bananas of old Maum Cinda. She is always so grateful for a fivepence dropped by a school-girl."
By this time the two girls were standing in front of the well-known fruit-stall of the old blind colored woman known far and near through the Queen City as "Maum Cinda." For years, hers had been the important market for supplying the school-children with luscious fruits, unimpeachable taffy, and ground-pea candy.
"An' bless de Lord, is it Miss Lizzie?" said the good-natured woman, as the sound of Lizzie Heartwell's voice fell upon her ear in the kindly spoken salutation.
"An' w'at will you have to-day, chile?"
"Some bananas, Maum Cinda—two for me, and two for my friend here,
Miss Bertha Levy."
"Oh! yes, Miss Bertha," replied the woman, courtesying, "an' maybe I have seen Miss Bertha, but it's the sweet voice of Miss Lizzie that the old blind woman remembers"—handing the bananas across the wide board that protected her tempting wares from public incursions.
"You flatter me, Maum Cinda; but I hope the rainy day has not interfered much with your trade. Here"—and extending her slender white hand, Lizzie dropped the jingling pennies into the aged, wrinkled one that opened to receive them.
"God bless you, chile. You neber forget His poor ones, de blind. God bless you!"
"Good morning, Maum Cinda."
"Good-by, young ladies, good-by." And the last glimpse the two receding friends had of the old woman, she was still profoundly bowing and courtesying in acknowledgment of their remembrance.