“You an’ Miss Barbary been quoilin’, Marse Erskine—you been quoilin’”—and without waiting for an answer she went on passionately: “Ole Marse an’ young Marse an’ Marse Hugh done gone, de niggahs all gone, an’ nobody lef’ but me an’ Ephraim—nobody lef’ but me an’ Ephraim—to give dat little chile one crumb o’ comfort. Nobody come to de house but de redcoats an’ dat mean Dane Grey, an’ ev’y time he come he leave Miss Barbary cryin’ her little heart out. ’Tain’t Miss Barbary in dar—hit’s some other pusson. She ain’t de same pusson—no, suh. An’ lemme tell yu—lemme tell yu—ef some o’ de men folks doan come back heah somehow an’ look out fer dat little gal—she’s a-gwine to run away wid dat mean low-down man whut just rid away from heah in a white uniform.” She had startled Erskine now and she knew it.
“Dat man has got little Missus plum’ witched, I tell ye—plum’ witched. Hit’s jes like a snake wid a catbird.”
“Men have to fight, Mammy——”
“I doan keer nothin’ ’bout de war.”
“I’d be captured if I stayed here——”
“All I keer ’bout is my chile in dar——”
“But we’ll drive out the redcoats and the whitecoats and I’ll come straight here——”
“An’ all de men folks leavin’ her heah wid nobody but black Ephraim an’ her ole Mammy.” The old woman stopped her fiery harangue to listen:
“Dar now, heah dat? My chile hollerin’ fer her ole Mammy.” She turned her unwieldy body toward the faint cry that Erskine’s heart heard better than his ears, and Erskine hurried away.
“Ephraim,” he said as he swung upon Firefly, “you and Mammy keep a close watch, and if I’m needed here, come for me yourself and come fast.”