Ruth was blushing violently, and Steve said:
“I’m not good enough, Mammy, for any lady.”
“Go ’way, Marse Steve! You know you good ’nough for anybody. Don’t you b’lieve him, young Mistis. I helt him in dese arms when he wa’ n’t so big;” she measured a length hardly above a span, “and I knows.”
Ruth thought so too just then, but she did not know what to say. Fortunately Steve came to her rescue.
“Mammy, you’re the only woman in the world that thinks that.”
“I know better ’n dat!” declared the old woman, emphatically. “You does too, don’t you, my Mistis?” At which Ruth stammered, “Why, yes,” and only blushed the more. She looked so really distressed that Steve said:
“Come, Mammy, you mustn’t embarrass your young Mistress.”
“Nor, indeed—dat I won’t. But you see dyah, you done call her my young Mistis!” laughed the old woman, enjoying hugely the confusion of both her visitors.
“It was time to go,” Steve said. So as the storm had passed, they came out and he saddled Ruth’s horse and handed her into the saddle. He spoke a few words to the old woman, to which she gave a quick affirmative reply. As they rode off, she said, “You mus’ come again,” which both of them promised and doubtless intended to do.
The woods were sparkling with the raindrops, and the sky was as if it had just been newly washed and burnished, and the earth was covered with water which shone in the light of the setting sun, like pools of crystal.