She flung herself desperately out of the bed down upon the floor, crawled under the white valance that hung all around the old-fashioned bed, and lay there holding her breath in terror, hoping that she would not be discovered. One hope alone was left her—to die before those angry eyes of her jealous half-sister shone upon her again.
In the meantime Sam had lighted a candle, and his wife had helped herself to a chair, while she gazed around with a critical eye at the appointments of the room.
It was well furnished indeed, for old Maria had been as thrifty as Sam was shiftless, and Poky said presently that "arter she had tidied up ter-morror it would be a very decent sort of a place."
"So I told yer, my lub," replied Sam, affectionately, and he gave the brown beauty an energetic kiss. Then he said, persuasively, "Poky, 'sposen yer light a fire and let us have a cup of coffee before we go to bed."
Poky assented good-naturedly, and very soon a fire was crackling in the little kitchen stove, and the odor of coffee and broiling ham pervaded the air. Then Poky took from the capacious basket she had brought on her arm a loaf of bread and a roll of butter, and proceeded to set the little table for her lord's repast.
It was just as she had finished her thrifty preparations, and invited Sam to "draw up his cheer," that he gave a startled little cry, and looked over his shoulder apprehensively:
"Sam!"
"Poky!"
"What's de matter, nigger, lookin' over yo' shoulder like you see sumfin'? Don't yer go 'magining now dat ole 'oman is ha'ntin' de house!"