“Lawd, how long!”
“An’ what you think he say?”
“I do’ know, sis’.”
“He say ez soon ’z he git money enough, he gwine to dat school whah ’Lias an’ Jim gone an’ lu’n to fahm scientific.”
“Bless de Lawd! Well, ’um, I don’ put nothin’ pas’ de young folks now.”
Mt. Hope had at last awakened. Something had come to her to which she might aspire,—something that she could understand and reach. She was not soaring, but she was rising above the degradation in which Harold Dokesbury had found her. And for her and him the ordeal had passed.