Mrs. Tracy smiled in a gratified fashion, while 'Tilda Jane went earnestly on, "I'm all mixy-maxy, an' I feel as if I hadn't started right. I guess I'll tell you jus' where I come from—I s'pose you know the Middle Marsden Orphan 'Sylum?"
The minister told her that he had heard of it. He did not tell her that he had heard it was one of the few badly managed institutions for orphans in the State, that the children were kept strictly, fed poorly, and were rapidly "institutionalised" while under the care of uneducated, ignorant women, who were only partially supervised by a vacillating board of lady managers.
"Well, I was riz there," continued 'Tilda Jane, "rizzed mostly in trouble, but still I was riz, an' the ladies paid for me, an' I didn't take that into 'count when I run away."
"So you ran away," he said, encouragingly.
"Yes, sir, 'count o' this dog, I said," and she pointed to Gippie, "but I guess inside o' me, 'twas as much for myself. I didn't like the 'sylum, I wanted to run away, even when there was no talk o' the dog, an' I'll tell you what happened," and while the minister and his wife courteously listened, she gave a full and entire account of her wanderings during the time that she had been absent from the asylum. She told them of Hank Dillson, of her sojourn at Vanceboro, and her experience with the Lucases, and finally her story brought her down to the events of the day before.
"When that ole man keeled over my dog," she said, brokenly, "that dog as had saved my life, I wanted murder. I wished something would strike him dead. But he didn't fall dead, an' then I thought it was time for me to chip in an' do somethin'. I took them crutches as he can't move without, an' I burnt 'em most up—all but a little bit at the top with the gold writin', 'cause he sits an' gazes at it, an' I guess sets store by it."
"You burnt Hobart Dillson's crutches!" exclaimed Mrs. Tracy, in surprise.
"Yes, ma'am—'cause he'd killed my dog."