Dicey had not uttered a sound when she found Natalia at the door; only her arms opened and she pressed the girl to her bosom, their tears mingling as the old slave covered her face and hands with kisses.
"Honey-chile, honey-chile, honey-chile!"
Natalia's head rested on the old familiar bosom, with the comforting feeling of dependence and trust which she had not known since she had last nestled there. When she looked up again she found herself sitting on the stair steps, her head leaning against Dicey's knee and the well known voice ringing in her ears.
"Yer hasn't fergotten me, has yer, honey-chile? I knowed yer hadn't."
Natalia's eyes answered for her eloquently.
"Your hair has turned white, Mammy," she said, when she had dried her tears; "and you are so—so fat, Mammy—and Mammy, you don't belong to me any longer," the last with a look of reproach.
"She didn' want me no longer when yer went away," Dicey answered, her dark eyes glistening suddenly with an expression of malignant anger. Natalia saw the wrinkling of the brows that she had dreaded when a child, for it never came except when Dicey's deep anger was kindled; and even now she felt a reflection of her childish dread at the familiar signal.
"She put me up fer sale lak as ef I wuz any udder nigger! She put me up in de slabe-market fer anybody—fer anybody to buy! Dar wuz'n no use fer her doin' me dat way. She could ha' sold me at home. But she wouldn'. She hated me—she wanted ter make me out cheap—dat wuz it. She didn' want me and she didn' ker who it wuz got me!"
Natalia put her hand gently over the old woman's lips.
"Sh-h! Don't say that about her, Mammy. It could not have been that bad."