[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
John Dana, his wife and little ones, attended Ida to Sunnybank. They arrived late at night, tired and sleepy; but their sunrise matins were caroled by Ida, as she sang a lively hymn in the breakfast-room, under the guest-chamber. She roamed briskly to and fro, rummaging side-boards and peeping into closets.
"Jest like you used to do, Miss Ida!" said Aunt Judy. "Law me! this comes of faith. I allers said I should live to deliver up them keys into your hands. And you've come home for good, honey?"
"Yes, Aunt Judy—come to stay with, and take care of you. That's 'for good,' isn't it?"
"To be sure! It's a mighty 'sponsibility, honey!"
"She'll have strength given her to bear it!" said Will, behind her. "It's time your biscuits were baking, Aunt Judy, and you're talking about 'sponsibility!"
"I shall depend upon you, Uncle Will," said Ida. "The servants were easily controlled while mother's influence was at work. How they will submit to one of my age and experience remains to be seen."
"Mr. Grant keeps them tolerably straight, ma'am. I can't say it's exactly as 'twas in her time, but they'll break in pretty easy, I reckon. An overseer, no matter how smart and good, ain't a marster or mistis. We get our victuals and clothes, and look just the same, but there's nobody to ride down from 'the house,' after planting, and hoeing, and harvesting's done, and say, well done, boys!' and at night, when we, whose quarters are in the yard, come up, it's so dark and lonesome, and still, and the doors and windows all shut, it makes us low-spirited—like 'twas no use to work—and Sunday—we feel it then!"
"So you are rather glad I am back again?"
"Glad! mistis! I couldn't be more pleased if you was my own child! We need you, ma'am; we need you!"