The child was taken so by surprise that she screamed in fright—not being able to hear the footfall or the voice of her who had so suddenly folded her in her arms and showered kisses on her face and hair. Then, seeing the face, she shouted:
“It's Mammy Maria—oh, it's my mammy!” and she threw her arms around the old woman's neck and clung there.
“Mammy's baby—did you think old Mammy dun run off an' lef' her baby?”
But Lily could only sob for joy.
Then the floor manager came hurriedly over—for the entire force of the mill had ceased to work, gazing at the strange scene. In vain he gesticulated his protests—the big fat colored woman walked proudly past him with Lily in her arms.
In Kingsley's office she stopped to get Lily's bonnet, while the little girl still clung to her neck, sobbing.
Kingsley stood taking in the scene in astonishment. He adjusted his eye glasses several times, lilting them with the most pronounced sarcastic lilt of which he was capable.
He stepped around and around the desk in agitated briskness.
He cleared his throat and jerked his pant legs up and down. And all the time the fat old woman stood looking at him, with the thunder-cloud on her brow and unexpressed scorn struggling for speech in her eyes.
“Ah-hem—ah-ha—Aunt Maria” for Kingsley had caught on to the better class of Southern ways—“inform me—ah, what does all this mean?”