"But what did mom-a want to borrow her for?"
"Well, I mowt say, fo' heh beauty; but ef I don't skip noth'n' I got to say she 'llow to p'otect heh."
Ramsey stared again and suddenly fell into that soft, rippling laugh, keen, merry, self-oblivious, which forty excusing adjectives would not have excused to her nurse.
"Protect her from—from wha-at?" She rippled again.
"F'om herseff!—an' f'om him!—an' him f'om heh!—and de whole Hayle fambly an' de law o' Gawd f'om bofe! An' she done it, yo' ma!—up to de wery day he meet his awful en' in dat bu'nin' pilot-house, when——"
"Ah-h-h! what pilot-house? You never told me——"
"Anybody else eveh tol' you? No. Us Hayles-es ain't fon' o' dat story. What I ain't tell you ain't be'n ripe to tell. I don't tell noth'n' 'tell it's ripe to tell, me!"
"Oh, it's dead ripe now. Go on, go on!—Burning pilot-house—my uncle Dan—stop!... Hmm!... That's funny.... Why, mammy, how could he be my uncle if he—was burnt up—before I was born?"
"Dat's yo' lookout. He wa'n't bu'nt up tell you wuz goin' on five. Yo' mixin' his las' en' wid yo' grampa's."
"Oh, I see-ee! He was lost on the Quakeress!"