"Well, y' can be surprised and git over it," said Dinah, rolling her portly figure into the conversation. "All I's got to say is, dere ain't no use for Mis' Betsey here to be worritin' and gettin' into a bad spell 'bout money, so long as I's got three hundred dollars laid up in my tea-pot. 'Tain't none o' your rags neither," said Dinah, who was strong on the specie question—"good bright silver dollars, and gold guineas, and eagles, I tucked away years ago, when your Pa was alive, and money was plenty. Look a-heah now!"—and Dinah emphasized her statement by rolling a handful of old gold guineas upon the table—"Dare now; see dar! Don't catch me foolin' away no money wid no banks and no stockholders. I keeps pretty tight grip o'mine. Tell you, 'fore I'd let dem gemmen hab my money I'd braid it up in my har—and den I'd know where 'twas when I wanted it."
"Dinah, you dear old soul," said Miss Dorcas, with tears in her eyes, "you don't think we'd live on your money?"
"Dun no why you shouldn't, as well as me live on yourn," said Dinah. "It's all in de family, and turn about's fair play. Why, good land! Miss Dorcas, I jest lotted on savin't up for de family. You can use mine and give it back agin when dat ar good time comes Massa Dick was allers a-tellin' about."
Mrs. Betsey fell into Dinah's arms, and cried on her shoulder, declaring that she couldn't take a cent of her money, and that they were all ruined, and fell into what Dinah used to call one of her "bad spells." So she swept her up in her arms forthwith and carried her upstairs and put her to bed, amid furious dissentient barkings from Jack, who seemed to consider it his duty to express an opinion in the matter.
"Dar now, ye aggrevatin' critter, lie down and shet up," she said to Jack, as she lifted him on to the bed and saw him cuddle down in Mrs. Betsey's arms and lay his rough cheek against hers.
Dinah remembered, years before, her young mistress lying weak and faint on that same spot, and how there had been the soft head of a baby lying where Jack's rough head was now nestling, and her heart swelled within her.
"Now, then," she said, pouring out some drops and giving them to her, "you jest hush up and go to sleep, honey. Miss Dorcas and I, we'll fix up this 'ere. It'll all come straight—now you'll see it will. Why, de Lord ain't gwine to let you starve. Never see de righteous forsaken. Jest go to sleep, honey, and it'll be all right when you wake up."
Meanwhile, Miss Dorcas had gone across the way to consult with Eva. The opening of the friendship on the opposite side of the way had been a relief to her from the desolateness and loneliness of her life circle, and she had come to that degree of friendly reliance that she felt she could state her dilemma and ask advice.
"I don't see any way but I must come to selling the house at last," said Miss Dorcas; "but I don't know how to set about it; and if we have to leave, at our age, life won't seem worth having. I'm afraid it would kill Betsey."
"Dear Miss Dorcas, we can't afford to lose you," said Eva. "You don't know what a comfort it is to have you over there, so nice and handy—why, it would be forlorn to have you go; it would break us all up!"