Maggie confided to her husband afterwards:
"Law, Titus, does yo' tink I could sit up dar an' tell dat precious chile we had chicken when I knew her little stomack was jes' groanin' for chicken? No, 'deed. Do I am deaconess, I'd rather be burned for a lie. So I jes' answers as pert-like as pos'ble. 'Law, honey, we jes' had mutton like yo'r brof is made of.'"
Beth, however, was not to be deceived. Her senses had grown unusually acute during her sickness. She pointed her finger at Maggie and said:
"Maggie, that's not true. You had chicken and biscuits, for I smelled them. Oh, I'm so hungry."
Maggie sighed sympathetically. "Law, honey, would yo' like some brof?"
"Broth," repeated Beth almost in tears. "I hate broth. I'll starve before I eat any more. I want chicken. Please, please get me some."
The appeal melted Maggie completely. She arose and called Duke from the doorway.
"Duke," she said, pointing to the cot, "don't yo' let any one come near missy till I come back. Do yo' understand?"
The delighted dog wagged his tail, and Maggie left the room.
Duke's first impulse was to rush up to the cot, and show his joy in true dog fashion. He longed to cover Beth's face and hands with kisses. He knew, however, that excitement was bad for her. He therefore walked quietly up to the cot and laid his head down beside his little playmate as if inviting a caress. She put a weak little hand on his head.