Wall, Aunt Mela sot store by Maggie, for the reasons I have stated, and then she liked her. And you can’t always parse that word and get the real true meanin’ of the why and the wherefore, why we jest take to some folks and can’t help it.
Wall, as I said, Aunt Mela wuz a wonderful good cook, a Baptist by persuasion, and I guess she meant to be as good as she could be, and honest. I believe she tried to be.
She had tried to keep the Commandments, or the biggest heft of ’em, ever sence she had jined the meetin’ house; and then she loved Maggie so well that she hated to wrong her in any way. But old influences and habits wuz strong in her, and she had common sense enough and honesty enough to recognize their power.
One day Maggie and I went out into the vegetable garden back of the house, and she had stopped in the kitchen for sunthin’, and she left the keys of the storeroom in the lock.
And Aunt Mela come a hurryin’ after us into the garden with the keys in her hand.
“Miss Maggie, chile, hain’t I tole you not to lef’ dem keys in de lock, an’ now you’ve dun it agin.”
She wuz fairly tremblin’ with her earnestness, her white turben a flutterin’ in the mornin’ breeze and the air of her agitation.
“Why, Aunt Mela, you was there; what hurt would it do for me to leave them? You are honest, you wouldn’t take anything.”
“Miss Maggie, honey, chile, don’ you leave dem keys dah no moah. You say I’m hones’, an’ so I hopes I am. But den agin I don’ know. But when anybody can’t do sumpin’, den dey don’ do it, an’ don’ you leave dem keys dah no moah.”
“Why, Aunt Mela, I trust you,” sez Maggie in her sweet voice. “I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.”