CHAPTER XIV.
After Phillis left Mrs. Weston's room, she was on her way to her cabin, when she noticed Aunt Peggy sitting alone at the door. She was rather a homebody; yet she reproached herself with having neglected poor old Peggy, when she saw her looking so desolate and dejected. She thought to pay her a visit, and bidding her good evening, sat down on the door-step. "Time old people were in bed, Aunt Peggy," said she; "what are you settin up for, all by yourself?"
"Who's I got to set up wid me?" said Aunt Peggy.
"Why don't you go to bed, then?" asked Phillis.
"Can't sleep, can't sleep," said Aunt Peggy; "aint slep none dese two, three nights; lays awake lookin at de moon; sees people a lookin in de winder at me, people as I aint seen since I come from Guinea; hears strange noises I aint never heard in dis country, aint never hearn sence I come from Guinea."
"All notions," said Phillis. "If you go to sleep, you'll forget them all."
"Can't go to sleep," said Aunt Peggy; "somefin in me won't sleep; somefin I never felt afore. It's in my bones; mebbe Death's somewhere in the neighborhood."
"I reckon you're sick, Aunt Peggy," said Phillis; "why didn't you let me know you wasn't well?"