The dark eyes were suddenly flooded and the tears ran down the negro woman's plump cheeks. She was not wrinkled, and if her tight, kinky hair was a mite gray, she did not have the appearance of an old person in any way. Her voice was round, and sweet, and tender.
"You don' know me, honey. You kyan't 'member Mammy Blanche. But she done hol' you in her arms w'en you was a mite of a baby, jes' as she held you dear mamma —my Miss Laura. Ah was her mammy, an' she growed up right under ma eye. Don' you understun', honey? The Avions was mah white folks.
"When Mistah Day come co'tin' an' merried yo' mamma, and kerrled her off here to Greensboro, Ah come along, too. An' Ah nebber would o' lef' you, only ma crippled brudder, Esek, an' his crippled wife done need me to tak' care ob dem.
"But Esek's daid. An' here Ah is back, chile—Ma soul an' body! ef dar ain' Mistah Brocky Day on crutches!"
"Blanche! Mammy Blanche!" exclaimed the man with real warmth, as well as wonder, in his tone. "Is it really you?"
"It's mah own brack se'f!" cried the woman, as daddy came hobbling forward to meet her just as though she were the finest company that had ever come to the Day house.
"You couldn't be more welcome if you were a queen, Mammy
Blanche," he cried. "You know—?"
He halted, and his own countenance fell. The old woman clung tightly to his hand with both of hers.
"Ah, yes; Ah got yo' letter long, long ago, Mistah Brocky. It nigh broke my heart. Ma lil' Miss Laura! But, glory!" and she turned suddenly to Janice, "here she is ober again!"
"I know it," said Broxton Day, wiping his eyes. "Come in and sit down, Mammy. Janice does not remember you, I suppose. But I remember well enough that we never had any housekeeping troubles when Mammy Blanche was on hand."