“You may be sure dat prayer is answered, dearie, for you trust de Lord, an’ no one does dat in vain.”
As the woman spoke, the familiar voice was heard outside, “Hi, Missis Lilly! how’s you all git along down dar?” At the same moment the opening to the street was darkened by Peter’s bulky form as he descended the narrow stair.
Shaking hands with Hester, who rose eagerly to greet him, the negro was about to begin an earnest talk with her as to how she should act in regard to her father if she should again meet him, when a voice was heard that sent a deadly chill alike to the hearts of Hester and the negro.
“Is the cellar far from this?” asked the voice, which was that of Osman.
“No; here it is! Guard your feet; the second step is broken, and the place is rather dark,” replied the owner of the house.
“Osman!” whispered Peter, glaring and clenching his fists in an agony of uncertainty how to act.
Mrs Lilly, however, black-woman-like, rose to the occasion.
“Go down dar, you black wretch!” she cried, thrusting Hester quickly down into the coffee-hole; “how you s’pose massa git his dollars if you not work? Go to work, or I’ll skin you!”
Truly those negroes, male and female, seemed to possess most effective capacity for, and original methods of, coming to the rescue of their friends in moments of danger!
As Mrs Lilly uttered the last words the two visitors stood in the cellar. At the same instant the thud of the great pestle began, and so intelligently did Hester perform her part that the familiar gasp of Sally—admirably imitated—came up with every blow.