She sits down in a rocking-chair, now and then putting her hand to her head, and groaning as if in pain. She turns and looks expectantly toward the door. After a moment she hobbles to the chest on the right and takes out an old red crocheted fascinator. Shivering she wraps it around her neck and stands looking down in the chest. She lifts out a little black box and starts to unfasten it, when the door suddenly opens and Mary McLean comes in. Aunt Candace puts the box hastily back into the chest, and hurries to the fire.
Mary Mclean has a "turn" of collards in one arm and a paper bundle in the other. She lays the collards on the floor near the window and puts her shawl on the bed. She is a quadroon girl about eighteen years old, with an oval face and a mass of fine dark hair, neatly done up. There is something in her bearing that suggests a sort of refinement. Her dress is pitifully shabby, her shoes ragged. But even this cannot hide the lines of an almost perfect figure. For a negro she is pretty. As she comes up to the fire her pinched lips and the tired expression on her face are plainly visible. Only her eyes betray any signs of excitement.
Aunt Candace. Honey, I's been a-waitin' foh you de las' two hours. My haid's been bad off. Chile, whah you been? Miss Mawgin must a had a pow'ful washin' up at de big house.
[Mary opens her hand and shows her a five-dollar bill.
AUNT CANDACE. De Lawd help my life, chile!
MARY. An' look here what Mr. Henry sent you, too. [She undoes the bundle, revealing several cooked sweet potatoes, sausages, spareribs, and some boiled ham.] He said as 'twas Christmas time he sent you this with the collards there.
[She points toward the collards at the window. Aunt Candace pays little attention to the food as Mary places it in her lap, but continues to look straight into Mary's face. The girl starts to give her the money, but she pushes her away.
AUNT CANDACE. [Excitedly.] Whah'd you git dat, honey? Whah'd you git it? Mr. Henry ain't never been dat kind befo'. Dey ain't no past Christmas times he was so free wid 'is money. He ain't de kind o' man foh dat. An' he a-havin' 'is washin' done on Christmas Eve. [Her look is direct and troubled.] Chile, Mr. Hugh didn't give you dat money, did he?
MARY. [Still looking in the fire.] Aunty, I ain't said Mr. Henry sent you this money. Yes'm, Mr. Hugh sent it to you. I done some washin' for him. I washed his socks and some shirts—pure silk they was. [She smiles at the remembrance.] An' he give me the money an' tole me to give it to you—said he wished he could give you somethin' more.
[She hands the money to Aunt Candace, who takes it quickly.