“Em’ly she am upstaihs somewhar. She don’t know nuffin’ ’bout it, an’ this am Celia’s day off. Dey am good girls an’ don’t go for to skair ole Mammy Luce. ’Sides, this yeah sperrit wuz ’bout seben foot high. It wuzn’t no pusson. It ain’t no use talkin’, Mis’ Carroll, ’cause I’se gwine ter git out fore dat sperrit gits after this niggah. It ain’t no fun to be daid an’ I ain’t gwine to be it.”
Further argument on the part of not only Miss Martha but the girls as well proved futile. Mammy Luce had but one thought. That thought was to put distance between herself and Las Golondrinas. The substantial increase of wages Miss Carroll felt impelled to offer her did not interest the superstitious old woman.
“I jes’ want what’s acomin’ to muh an’ git out,” she declared with finality. “I’se gwine ober yander ’bout three mile toh see mah brudder. He’ll hitch up his ole yaller mule an’ tote ole Luce toh the station.”
“Go upstairs, Patsy, to my room and bring me my handbag. It is in the tray of my trunk. Here is the key.”
From the white crocheted bag swinging from one arm, Miss Carroll took a small brass key which she handed to Patsy.
As she passed through the patio and thence on upstairs, recollection of the curious impression she had received that morning in walking through the portrait gallery came back to Patsy.
She had been absolutely sure at the moment that the pictured cavalier had moved. Mammy Luce, it seemed, was equally sure that she had seen a “sperrit.” The question that now obtruded itself in Patsy’s mind was, had she and Mammy Luce seen nothing, or had both of them really seen something?