"I had ter laugh ter hear her speak up so peart, like. I didn't think 'twas in her, and she not much more'n a child.
"'Wall,' says Columbus, 'ef I can't prove it, I knows them as kin.'
"'Wall,' says Phenie, 'when he tells me so hisself, I'll believe it, an' not befo'!'
"Then Columbus went away, an' I could see he was all worked up an' mad. His face was white as cotton. Phenie, she went to bed, an' I heerd her a-cryin' an' a-snubbin' all night. She couldn't eat no breakfast, nuther, though I made griddle-cakes, extry for her; an' she dressed herself an' went off somewheres—I didn't ask her, but I reckon she went down ter the city ter find out about that man. Wall, towards night she come home, an' I never see a gal look so—kind o' wild, like, an' her eyes a-shinin' an' her cheeks as red as pinies. She sot an' looked out o' the winder, an' looked, an' bimeby Columbus he come in, an' they went into the room. I couldn't hear rightly what they said, the chill'en was makin' sich a noise, but I heared Phenie bust out a-cryin' fit to break her heart, an' then Columbus, he—wall, Lord! I never did see sich a feller! He jess loves the groun' that gal's feet walks on!"
"He must be very forgiving," I said. "Phenie has used him badly."
"Wall, I do' know," she replied, with perfect simplicity. "I do' know as she was beholden to Columbus ef she could a-done better. The child didn't mean no harm."
Although aware of the impracticability of trying to render Mrs. Angel's comprehension of maternal duty clearer, I could not help saying:
"But why didn't you, as the girl's own mother and nearest friend, have a talk with Phenie in the beginning? You might have spared her a great deal of trouble."
Mrs. Angel's eyes dilated with surprise.
"Lord! Mis' Lawrence!" she exclaimed, "you do' know! Why, gals is that bashful! They couldn't tell their mothers sich things. Why, I'd 'a' died 'fore I'd 'a' told mine anything about—love-matters! Lord!"