“No, let Todd alone,” laughed St. George, his heart warming to the old woman at this further proof of her love for him. “The Lord has already forgiven him that lie, and so have I. And now what have you got upstairs?”
They had mounted the steps by this time and St. George was peering into a clean, simply furnished room. “First rate, aunty—your lumber-yard man is in luck. And now put that in your pocket,” and he handed her the package.
“What's dis?”
“Nearly half a year's wages.”
“I ain't gwineter take it,” she snapped back in a positive tone.
St. George laid his hand tenderly on the old woman's shoulder. She had served him faithfully for many years and he was very fond of her.
“Tuck it in your bosom, aunty—it should have been paid long ago.”
She looked at him shrewdly: “Did de bank pay ye yit, Marse George?”
No
“Den I ain't gwineter tech it—I ain't gwineter tech a fip ob it!” she exploded. “How I know ye ain't a-sufferin' fer it! See dat wash?—an' I got anudder room to rent if I'm min' ter scrunch up a leetle mo'. I kin git 'long.”