“Never mind, Marse Ned—jes' you git into the buggy now an' I'll take you home. You see, I've moved everything this mohnin' whilst you slept. The last load is gone to our new home.”
“What?” he exclaimed—“where?” He looked around—the home was empty.
“I thort it time to wake you up,” she went on, “an' besides I wanter talk to you about my babies.
“You'll onderstan' all that when you see the home I've bought for us”—she said simply. “We're gwine to it now. Git in the buggy”—and she helped him to arise.
Then Edward Conway guessed, and he was silent, and without a word the old woman drove him out of the dilapidated gate of Millwood toward the town.
“Mammy,” he began as if he were a boy again—“Mammy,” and then he burst into tears.
“Don't cry, chile,” said the old woman—“it's all behind us now. I saved the money years ago, when we all wus flush—an' you gave me so much when you had an' wus so kind to me, Marse Ned. I saved it. We're gwine to reform now an' quit drinkin'. We'se gwine to remove to another spot in the garden of the Lord, but the Lord is gwine with us an' He is the tower of strength—the tower of strength to them that trust Him—Amen. But I must have my babies—that's part of the barg'in. No mill for them—oh, Marse Ned, to think that whilst I was off, fixin' our home so nice to s'prize you all—wuckin' my fingers off to git the home ready—you let them devils get my babies! Git up heah”—and she rapped the horse down the back with the lines. “Hurry up—I'm gwine after 'em es soon es I git home.”
Conway could only bow his head and weep.
It was nearly noon when a large coal-black woman, her head tied up with an immaculately white handkerchief, with a white apron to match over her new calico gown, walked into the mill door. She passed through Kingsley's office, without giving him the courtesy of a nod, holding her head high and looking straight before her. A black thunder-cloud of indignation sat upon her brow, and her large black eyes were lit up with a sarcastic light.
Before Kingsley could collect his thoughts she had passed into the big door of the main room, amid the whirl and hum of the machinery, and walking straight to one of the spinning frames, she stooped and gathered into her arms the beautiful, fair-skinned little girl who was trying in vain to learn the tiresome lesson of piecing the ever-breaking threads of the bewildering, whirling bobbins.