[CHAPTER II.]
Little Golden sped across the green lawn, her young heart full of pain and anger at the cruel words her cousins had spoken to her.
Flying through the long, dark corridor of the old hall, and passing through several lofty and empty old rooms, she emerged at last in the sunny bay-window where her grandfather dozed daily, surrounded by pots of fragrant roses and geraniums.
But with the breathless words of complaint just parting her coral lips, Golden saw that the old arm-chair was vacant.
She was surprised and a little dismayed; she had been so sure of finding him there.
She turned round and ran out to the sunny kitchen in the back yard, where old Dinah stood at a table ironing some simple white garments for her young mistress, and crooning to herself a fragment of a negro revival tune.
The only nurse and the best friend that Golden had ever known after her grandfather, was homely, warm-hearted, black Dinah.
Golden loved the old negress dearly. Ever since she had first lisped her name, the girl had familiarly called her "black mammy," after the fashion of most southern children with their nurses.
Now she called out quickly before she had reached the kitchen door.
"Oh, black mammy, where is grandpa?"