"I wish I could make your mother understand how much I appreciate all she has done for me," she said, impulsively. "Do you know she has given me your sister's room?"
"Yes, she told me she was going to. Mother is very fond of you, and she says she thinks Babs would have loved you, too."
"I know I should have loved her," said Marjorie, earnestly. "Grace has been telling me about her, and I have been looking at all her things."
"She was almost as fond of riding as you are," said Beverly. "She was such a plucky little girl; never afraid of anything. She rode better than any girl in the neighborhood."
Beverly's voice sounded a little husky, and Marjorie thought it might be best to change the subject, so she launched into an account of a "round up" she had once seen, and the rest of the ride was a very merry one.
"Will you mind if I stop for a moment to speak to my old mammy?" Beverly asked, as they were on their way home. "She lives in one of these cabins, and I know she'll be on the lookout for me."
"Of course I won't mind," said Marjorie, promptly; "I shall love it. I've never seen a real colored mammy, but I've often read about them in stories."
"Well, you shall see one now. Ours was the genuine article, though people pretend to say the old-fashioned darky is a thing of the past. She was devoted to Babs and me, although she was a firm believer in the efficacy of the rod. We loved her dearly, and minded her better than we minded Mother. She was put on the pension list several years ago, and now has a cabin to herself. Here it is, and there's Mammy on the watch for us, as I was sure she would be. Hello, Mammy, here's your bad boy back again!"
Beverly sprang to the ground, and the next moment was being rapturously hugged by a very stout old negress, with a turban on her head. She was so exactly Marjorie's idea of what a mammy ought to be, that the girl was delighted, and sat looking on with deep interest, while Beverly and his old nurse exchanged greetings. Then Marjorie herself was introduced, and Mammy begged them both to tie their horses, and come in for a cup of tea. But Beverly declared it was too late, and they finally made their escape, having promised to come another day, for a feast of the waffles, for which it appeared Mammy was famous.
"It has been one of the loveliest days I've ever had," Marjorie declared, as they rode up the avenue at Randolph Place, in the light of the setting sun. "I shall never forget it as long as I live, and I shall have so much to write home in my next letter, that I believe it will fill a volume."