“It’s ole marse, a-feedin’ ob de snowbirds,” Hatty explained. “Ole marse is jes’ a angel, ma’am! He’s good to eberybody an’ eberyfing.”
“You love your master very much, then, Hatty?” said Palma.
“Lub him? Dat ain’t no word for it! ’Cause, yo’ see, ma’am, I lubs so many bodies an’ so many fings, too, even down to red ribbins an’ cakes! But I puffickly ’dores ole marse!” said the girl, smiling until her eyes closed and all the lines of her features were horizontal.
Palma had gone to the washstand, where now the sound of splashing water prevented the hearing of any talk. Then, while she was drying her face and neck, she said:
“Run, Hatty, and take my traveling dress from the hook in the closet, and carry it out and shake it, and brush it, and bring it back to me. I won’t take time now to unpack my trunks to get another.”
Almost before she ceased to speak the girl, glad to serve her, had darted into the closet, seized the dress, and was running off with it.
By the time Palma had dried her skin and dressed her hair Hatty was back with the dark blue flannel suit, looking as fresh as when it came out of Lovelace & Silkman’s establishment.
As soon as Palma finished her toilet she hurried downstairs and was met at the foot by the aged master of the house, who had just come in from his bird feeding.
He wore a faded, dark blue dressing-gown, thickly wadded, and wrapped closely about his fragile form. He looked, if possible, fairer, frailer and more of a mere chrysalis than ever.
“Good-morning, my dear,” he said. “You have slept well, I know, and have risen to a beautiful day.”