“I couldn't jist stand him after—after—that night. Dad wanted him to stay, but I couldn't jist stand him, and so he quit.”
“Quit?”
“I jist hate him since—since—that night. When I think of what he done I could kill him. My, I was glad to see him lyin' there in the dust!” Mandy's words came hot and fast. “They might 'a killed you.” For the first time in the interview she looked fairly into Cameron's eyes. “My, you do look awful!” she said, with difficulty commanding her voice.
“Nonsense, Mandy! You see, it wasn't my leg that hurt me. It was the fever that pulled me down.”
“Oh, I'll never forget that night!” cried Mandy, struggling to keep her lips from quivering.
“Nor will I ever forget what you did for me that night, Mandy. Sam told me all about it. I shall always be your friend.”
For a moment longer she held him with her eyes. Then her face grew suddenly pale and, with voice and hands trembling, she said:
“I must go. Good-by.”
He took her great red hand in his long thin fingers.
“Good-by, Mandy, and thank you.”