THE ANGEL WITH THE FLAMING SWORD
It was nearly time for the mill to close when Mammy Maria, her big honest face beaming with satisfaction at the surprise she had in store for Helen, began to wind her red silk bandana around her head. She had several bandanas, but when Lily saw her put on the red silk one, the little girl knew she was going out—“dressin' fur prom'nade”—as the old lady termed it.
“You are going after Helen,” said the little girl, clapping her hands.
She sat on her father's lap: “And we want you to hurry up, Mammy Maria,” he said, “I want all my family here. I am going to work to-morrow. I'll redeem Millwood before my two years expire or I am not a Conway again.”
Mammy Maria was agitated enough. She had been so busy that she had failed to notice how late it was. In her efforts to surprise Helen she had forgotten time, and now she feared the mill might close and Helen, not knowing they had moved, would go back to Millwood. This meant a two mile tramp and delay. She had plenty of time, she knew, before the mill closed; but the more she thought of the morning's scene at the mill and of Jud Carpenter, the greater her misgivings. For Mammy Maria was instinctive—a trait her people have. It is always Nature's substitute when much intellect is wanting.
All afternoon she had chuckled to herself. All afternoon, the three of them,—for even Major Conway joined in, and helped work and arrange things—talked it over as they planned. His face was clear now, and calm, as in the old days. Even the old servant could see he had determined to win in the fight.
“Marse Ned's hisse'f ag'in,” she would say to him encouragingly—“Marse Ned's hisse'f—an' Zion's by his side, yea, Lord, the Ark of the Tabbernackle!”
For the last time she surveyed the little rooms of the cottage. How clean and fresh it all was, and how the old mahogany of Millwood set them off! And now all was ready.