Creeping around from the rear grounds, emerging from a side grove of acacia trees, winding between parterres of hyacinths, tulips, daffodils, and other spring flowers, came a very aged woman, small, black, withered, poorly clad in an old brown linsey gown, with a red handkerchief tied over her head and under her chin, and leaning on a cane, she drew slowly near the piazza, climbed the two or three steps and stood bobbing, but trembling with infirmity, before the invalid master.
“Well, Aunt Adah, I am pleased to see you abroad once more,” said Hereward, kindly.
“Young marster, I t’ank yer, sah. An’ I is t’ankful! Oh, my Hebbenly Lord, how t’ankful I is in my heart to fine yer sittin’ out yere!” earnestly responded the woman, reverently raising her eyes and trembling through all her frame.
“Sit down, Aunt Adah. You are not able to stand,” said Hereward, kindly, stretching out his emaciated hand to reach and draw a chair up to the weary old woman.
“I t’anks yer, young marster, I t’anks yer werry much, an’ I will sit down in yer p’esence, since yer’s so ’siderate as to ’mit me so to do; fer I is weak, young marster—I is weak. I has been yere a many times to see yer, young marster, but dey wouldn’ leabe me do it, no dey wouldn’, an’ I ’spects dey was right. Yer wa’n’t well ’nuff to be ’sturbed,” said the old creature, as she lowered herself slowly and carefully into the chair, for all her joints were stiff with extreme age.
“You were very kind to come to inquire after me so often,” said Hereward, gently.
“An’ w’y wouldn’ I come? An’ how should ebber I hear ob yer ’dout comin’ myse’f to ’quire? It’d be long ’nuff fo’ any ob dese t’oughtless niggers yere come ’cross de crik to fetch me any news! Me, as has been a savint ob de Tudors for ’mos’ a hund’ed years an’ is by fur de ol’est savint on de plantation! ’Deed it’s de trufe, young marster. I was ninety-nine years old las’ Can’lemas Day,” continued the old woman, stooping to lay her cane on the floor.
Hereward smiled faintly. He knew from old farm records that Aunt Adah was even older than, with the strange pride of her race in extreme longevity, she claimed to be; and that for the last few years she had steadily called herself ninety-nine years old last Candlemas Day, sticking at that imposing number and seeming to forget that every year increased it; honestly to forget, for old Adah would have been perfectly delighted if any one had opened her eyes and explained to her that she might truly lay claim to a hundred and seven years.
“You have certainly been a most faithful follower of the family, Aunt Adah,” said the young man.
“Yes, honey, fai’ful!” assented the old creature. “Dat’s me, fai’ful!—fai’ful froo fick an’ fin, froo good ’port and ebil ’port, fai’ful fer ninety-nine years las’ Can’lemas Day! I didn’t ’mancipate de plantashun to go off to Cong’ess like so many ob dem riff-raff, lowlife brack niggers did! No, sah! Aunt Adah Mungummerry had too much ’spect fer herse’f, let alone ’spect fer de ole famberly ob de Tudors, to ’grace herse’f dat way! ’Sides w’ich, young marster, to tell de bressed trufe, I wouldn’ ’a’ lef’ my log-house in de piney woods ’cross de crik, wid my good pine-knot fire in de winter time, an’ my cool spring ob water outside de do’, no, not fer all de Cong’ess in de whole worl’! ’Deed, ’fo’ de law, it’s de trufe!”