Finding her thus so vociferously amiable, Daisy felt encouraged to approach the wagon; and bending down over it, she poked the mulatto baby repeatedly in an affectionate manner. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I do think this is the darlingest baby!”
“Ain’ it!” the coloured woman cried. “Ain’ it! Yes’m, you say what’s so! Ain’ it!”
“Does it belong to you?” Daisy inquired.
“Yes’m, indeed do! I’m baby’ grammaw. Baby my li’l lovin’ gran’chile.”
It was plain that all three children thought the statement remarkable; they repeatedly looked from the light tan grandchild to the dark brown grandmother and back again, while Daisy, in particular, had an air of doubt. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Are you sure you’re its gran’ma?”
“Yes’m indeed!”
“Honest?”
“Yes’m indeed!”
“Well——” Daisy began, and was about to mention the grounds of her doubt; but tact prevailed with her, and she asked a question instead.
“What’s its name?”