"My God! My wife! My boy is not—not dead!"
"Oh, my darling, it's worse than that!"
"Worse! He is not deformed!"
"I can't tell you! I—I couldn't help it."
"Where is he?"
"In there," pointing to the room that had been arranged for a nursery.
Mammy Charity, who had been eaves-dropping, was almost knocked over as my father suddenly opened the door upon her and excitedly cried:
"Let me see my boy, mammy!"
"Marse Dae, please, suh, fergib us all, but—de boy is a gal."