“Ah ’clah to goodness, ma’am, dey jes’ keeps a-comin’ an’ a-comin’. ’Peahs like we cain’t keep no close fo’ ourse’f; de sheets an’ tablecloths an’ napkins an’ eben de young misstess’ petticoats, dey all hab to go.”
“And we have just sent all the bandages we have,” said Mrs. Varney, smiling.
“Den we got to git some mo’. Dey says dey’s all used up, an’ two mo’ trains jes’ come in crowded full o’ wounded sojahs—an’ mos’ all ob ’em dreffeul bad!”
“Is Miss Kittridge here yet, Martha?”
“Yas’m, Ah jes’ seed her goin’ thu de hall into de libr’y.”
“Ask her if they have anything to send. Even if it’s only a little let them have it. What they need most is bandages. There are some in Howard’s room, too. Give them half of what you find there. I think what we have left will last long enough to—to——”
“Yas’m,” said old Martha, sniffing. “Ah’m a-gwine. Does you want to see de man?”
“Yes, send him in,” said Mrs. Varney.
There was a light tap on the door after Martha went out.
“Come in,” said the mistress of the house, and there entered to her a battered and dilapidated specimen of young humanity, his arm in a sling. “My poor man!” exclaimed Mrs. Varney. “Sit down.”