"'Who is Mr. Crompton, and how did he know about the child?' I asked, and Jake replied, 'He is somebody from the Norf, and he'd sent money to Mas'r Hardy in Palatka for Miss Dory, who put it away for de chile. After she died Mas'r Hardy was gwine to Europe, an' tole me 'twas Col. Crompton, Troutburg, Massachusetts, who sent the money, but he wouldn't say nothin' else, 'cept that Col. Crompton had gin him his confidence and he should keep it. I'm shoo that Miss Dory sent letters through Mas'r Hardy to de Colonel, an' he writ to her. Not very offen, though. She'd sen' one to Mas'r Hardy, an' he'd sen' it Norf, an' then she'd wait and wait for de answer, an' when it came you or'to seen her face light up like sun-up on de river in a May mornin'. An' her eyes,—she had wonnerful eyes,—would shine like de stars frosty nights in Virginny. Maybe 'twas mean, but sometimes I watched her readin' de letter, her han's flutterin' as she opened it like a little bird's wings when it's cotched. I think she was allus 'spectin' sumptin' what never comed. The letters was short, but it took her a mighty time to read 'em, 'case you see she wasn't good at readin' writin', an' I 'specs de Colonel's handwrite wasn't very plain. She used to spell out de long words, whisperin' 'em out sometimes, her face changin' till all de brightness was gone, an' it was more like a storm on de river than sun-up. Den she'd fold de letter, an' take up de lil chile an' kiss it, an' say, "I've got you. We'll never part." Den she'd burn de letter. I specs he tole her to, an' she was shoo to mind. Den she'd go at her readin' book agin, or writin', tryin' to larn, but 'twixt you an' I 'twan't in her, an', no direspec' nuther, de Harrises couldn't larn from books. Dey's quick to 'dapt theirselves to what they seen, an' she didn't see nothin'.
"'Once she said to me when de big words troubled her an' floor'd me, "I can never be a lady dis way. Ef he'd take me whar he is, an' 'mongst his people, I should larn thar ways, but what can I do here wid—" She didn't say "wid Jake an' Mandy Ann an' ole granny, an' de rest of 'em," but she meant it. If it hadn't been for the lil chile she could of gone to school. I tole her oncet I'd sen' her an' take care of de lil chile an' ole Miss,—me an' Mandy Ann. The tears come in her eyes as she ast whar I'd git de money, seein' we was layin' up what come from de Norf for de chile. I'd done thought that out lyin' awake nights an' plannin' how to make her a lady. I'se bawn free, you know, an' freedom was sweet to me an' slavery sour, but for Miss Dory I'd do it, an' I said, "I'll sell myself to Mas'r Hardy, or some gemman like him." Thar's plenty wants me, an' would give a big price, an' she should have it all for her schoolin'.
"'You orter have seen her face then. Every part of it movin' to oncet, an' her eyes so bright I could not look at 'em for the quarness thar was in 'em, an' I'll never forget her voice as she said, "That can't be; but, Jakey, you are de noblest man, black or white, I ever seen, an' my best frien', an' I loves you as if you was my brodder."
"'Dem's her very words, an' I would of sole myself for her if I could. But de lam gin up after a while. All de hope an' life went out of her, an' she died' an' you done 'tended her funeral,—you 'members it,—as fust class as I could make it. I tole you sumptin' den, but not all this. It wasn't a fittin' time, but seein' you brings it all back. Mandy Ann an' me said we'd keep lil chile a while, bein' ole Miss was alive, though she was no better than a broomstick dressed in her clothes. She didn't know nothin', not even that Miss Dory was dead, an' kep' askin' whose chile it was,—ef it was Mandy Ann's, an' why it was hyar. It kinder troubled her, I think, it was so active an' noisy, an' sung so much. Used to play at pra'r meetin' an' have de pow' powerful, as she had seen de blacks have it when Mandy Ann took her to thar meetin's. Seems ef she liked thar ways better than what I tried to teach her from de Pra'r Book, an' they is rather more livelier for a chile. All de neighbors was interested in her, an' ole Miss Thomas most of all. She's de one what stood out de longest agin Miss Dory, 'case she didn't tell squar what she'd promised not to. But she gin in at de funeral, an' was mighty nice to the lil chile. When ole Miss Lucy died she comed in her democrat wagon, as she did for Miss Dory, an' coaxed lil chile inter her lap, an' said she showed she had good blood, an' or'to be brung up a lady, an' it wasn't fittin' for her to stay whar she was, an' if I knew de fader I mus' write to him.
"'I knew dat as well as she did, an' after consultin' wid Mandy Ann an' prayin' for light, it come dat I must sen' on, an' I did, hopin' he wouldn' come, for to part wid de lil chile was like tearin' my vitals out, an' Mandy Ann's, too. He did come,—a big, gran' man, wid a look which made me glad Miss Dory was in heaven 'stead of livin' wid him. He'd been hyar oncet before. Mebby I tole you, at de funeral. My mind gets leaky, an' I can't 'member exactly, an' so repeats.'
"'I think not,' I said, 'and if you did, I have forgotten, and am willing to hear it again.'
"We were sitting now on a bench close by what Jake said had been the little girl's play-house, which she called her Shady, because it was under a palm tree.
"'Yes, he comed,' Jake said, 'two or three weeks after Miss Dory comed home from Georgy, whar she was visitin' her kin. Mandy Ann tole me 'bout him,—how he walked an' talked to Miss Dory, till when he went away her face was white as the gown she put on when she hearn he was comin'. You see, Mandy Ann was on de boat wid him, an' tole her. She was all of a twitter, like you've seen de little hungry birds in de nest when dar mudder is comin' wid a worm,—an' she was jess as cold an' slimpsy an' starved when he went away as dem little birds is when de mudder is shot on de wing an' never comes wid de worm. You know what I mean. She s'pected somethin' an' didn't get it.'
"Jake was very eloquent in his illustrations, and I looked admiringly at him as he went on: 'I was in Virginny vallyin' for Mas'r Kane, a fine gemman who gin me big wage, an' I was savin' it up to buy some things for de house, 'case I reckoned how Miss Dory seen somethin' different in Georgy. Her kin was very 'spectable folks, an' she might want some fixin's. Thar was nobody hyar but ole Miss Lucy, who'd had some kind of a spell an' lost most of her sense, an' didn't know more'n a chile. Mandy Ann got somebody to write me that Miss Dory had a beau,—a gran' man, an' I was that pleased that I ast the price of a second-han' pianny, thinkin' mebby she'd want to larn, 'case she sung so nice. Den I never hearn anoder word, 'cept from Miss Dory, till Mas'r Hardy writ Mas'r Kane to sen' me home, 'case I was needed. I s'posed ole Miss Lucy had had another fit, an' started thinkin' all de way up de river how I'd see Miss Dory standin' in de do' wid de smile on her face, an' de light in her eyes, an' her pleasant voice sayin' to me, "How d'ye, Jake, I'se mighty glad to see you." 'Stid o' that she wasn't thar, an' Mandy Ann come clatterin' down de stars, an' I hearn a baby cry. In my s'prise I said, "What's dat ar? Has ole Miss got a baby?"
"'Mandy Ann laughed till she cried, den cried without laughin', an' tole me wid her face to de wall, an' I was so shamed I could of hid in de san', an' Mandy Ann, they tole me, did run inter de woods at fust to hide herself. Den she smarted up an' fit for Miss Dory, who said nothin' 'cept, "Wait, it will all be right. I tole him I would wait. I'm a good girl," an' fo' Heaven, I b'lieved her, though some o' de white trash didn't at fust, but they all did at the last. Maybe I'm tirin' you?'