“Marse Val never looked handsomer than he did this yer mornin’,” replied Kitty, decidedly.
“I didn’t say nothin’ ’bout handsome, Kitty!” exclaimed Andy irately. “I done said he wan’t so chipper. I don’t like dat pale face, Kitty; ’tain’t for no good, min’ dat.”
“I may as well tell you, Uncle Andy,” said Kitty, hesitatingly, “that Chloe told me all about it; she was in de china closet when Mis’ Emma was over dar yistady, and heard her an’ Mis’ Warfield talkin’. De doctor comes twice a day to see little Marse Valentine and little Mis’ Sarah; dey has de scarlet fever, an’ Dr. Lattinger is afeard dat little Marse Valentine won’t live.”
“Well! well! well!” cried Andy, shaking his white head, and brushing away a tear with the back of his wrinkled hand. “I’s nearly a hundred years ol’, an’ has toted Marse Val in my arms when he was a chipper baby. I done lubed dat chile like I lubed my own chillen, an’ now can’t help him none in his trouble.”
“We must all have trouble in dis world, Uncle Andy.”
“I know dat, but de good Lord won’t shorely take little Marse Val an’ leave me who ain’t no ’count nohow. I’s like a withered apple on a dead branch, dat no wind nor frost nor hail kin fotch down from offen de tree.”
“Chloe told me that Dr. Lattinger says much depends on de nursin’, and dey has good nurses. I tell you that it is a mighty good thing Mis’ Hilda has dat Ohio lady to call on in time of trouble.”
“’Pears ter me yer knows a heap dis mornin’, Kitty,” remarked Andy dryly. “’Spose yer was ’tendin’ to keep all dis from de ol’ man.”
“No, Uncle Andy, but Mis’ Emma said it was better not to tell you unless you asked, for it would only distress you, for you think so much of Marse Val.”
“Of course I does, Kitty, but nobody wants to be kep’ in de dark, yer knows dat yer own self! Ol’ folks wants ter know what is goin’ on, an’ how is dey ter know widout somebody tells ’em?”