“I haven’t been a good father to you,” the man began after a pause, “and I’m not sure I could do better if I should stay on here with you. So I might as well go now as any time! Your mother would’ve done differently if she’d lived. You look some like her.”
“I’m sorry I don’t remember her,” remarked Virginia apologetically.
“She went away when you were too little even to know her. Then I left you, too, though I don’t suppose any one but her could have made you happy.”
“Oh, I’ve been happy!” Jinnie asserted. “Old Aunt Matty and the cats’re all I need around, and I always have my fiddle. I found it in the garret.”
It was easy to believe that she was telling the truth, for to all appearances she looked happy and healthy. However, Mr. Singleton’s eyes darkened and saddened under the words. Nothing, perhaps, had ever touched him so deeply. 17
“It’s no life for a girl of fifteen years to live with cats and niggers,” he muttered.
One less firmly faithful to conscience would have acquiesced in this truthful statement; not so Virginia.
“Matty’s a good nigger!” she insisted, passionately. “She’d do anything she could for me!”
Seemingly the man was not impressed by this, for his strong jaws were set and unyielding upon the unlighted cigar clenched between his teeth.
“I might as well tell you to-night as to-morrow,” he concluded, dropping the cigar on the table. “Your mother left you her money and property when she died.”