“No.”
“De Bravo’s Lane, den?”
“No.”
“Well, nebber mind. You goes ’long down Bridge Street—you knows dat?”
“No.”
“I declar’ for’t, mistis, I don’t jes know how to tell you, but whenebber I wants to go dar, I jes goes.”
I laughed, and so did Aunt Viny. A colored girl came round the corner with a pail on her head. “Dar’s Victoria; she’ll show yar,” said Aunt Viny.
“Your daughter?”
“Yas. Victoria Linkum is her name, mistis. You see, she was jes borned when Linkum died, and so I named her from him,” said the woman, with simple earnestness.
The funny little Victoria showed me the way across a bridge over the Maria Sanchez Creek.