“She don’t b’long to nobody, gals,” she said. “It’s thet little critter big Tom D’Willerby from Talbot’s Cross-roads took to raise.”
“Ye don’t say. Pore little thing,” exclaimed the girls. And while one of them stooped to kiss her cheek, the other hurriedly produced a large red apple, which she laid on the long table before her.
But Sheba did not touch it. To hear that she belonged to nobody was a mysterious shock to her. There had never seemed any doubt before that she belonged to her Uncle Tom, but Mrs. Sparkes had quite separated her from him in her statement. Suddenly she began to feel a little tired, and not quite so happy as she had been. But she sat still and listened, rendered rather tremulous by the fact that the speakers seemed so sure they had reason to pity her.
“Ef ever thar was a mystery,” Mrs. Sparkes proceeded, “thet thar was one; though Molly Hollister says D’Willerby don’t like it talked over. Nobody knowed ’em, not even their names, an’ nobody knowed whar they come from. She died, ’n he went away—nobody knowed whar; ’n the child wasn’t two days old when he done it. Ye cayn’t tell me thar ain’t a heap at the back o’ that. They say D’Willerby’s jest give himself up to her ever since, an’ ’tain’t no wonder, nuther, for she’s a’ out ’n out beauty, ain’t she, now? Just look at her eyes. Why don’t ye eat yer apple, honey?”
Sheba turned towards the window and looked out on the porch. A bewildering sense of desolation had fallen upon her.
“I don’t want it,” she said; and her small voice had a strange sound even in her own ears. “I want Uncle Tom. Let me go out on the porch and see if he’s coming.”
She saw them exchange rapid glances and was troubled afresh by it.
“D’ye reckin she understands?” the younger daughter said, cautiously.
“Lordy, no!” answered the mother; “we ain’t said nothin’. Ye kin go ef ye want to, Sheba,” she added, cheerfully. “Thar’s a little rocking-cheer that ye kin set in. Help her down, Luce.”
But she had already slipped down and found her way to the door opening out on to the street. The porch was deserted for a wonder, the reason being that an unusually interesting case was being argued in the Court-house across the street, where groups of men were hanging about the doors. The rocking-chair stood in a corner, but Sheba did not sit down in it. She went to the steps and stood there, looking out with a sense of pain and loneliness still hanging over her; and at last, without knowing why, only feeling that they had a dreary sound and contained a mystery which somehow troubled her, she began to say over softly the words the woman had used.