She knew what the young
girl's heart was too full for speech; that the mother's brooch
would speak more tenderly than ever she could, of forgiveness to
the little ignorant black girl.
The children were all eyes at Viny and her costume, but they said
never a word while she howled on steadily, only ejaculating in an
occasional gust, "O Miss Sylvy--Miss Sylvy!"
Caryl, white as a sheet, rushed out of the carriage and into the
old lodging house the instant the horses paused by the broken
gate. Maum Patty was singing in the little kitchen the refrain
she never indulged in except in her most complacent moods.
Flinging wide the door, Caryl panted out, "Oh, what is it! Tell
me at once!"
"Lawks!" exclaimed Maum Patty, startled from her peaceful
enjoyment, and turning so suddenly in the old calico-covered
chair that she sent her spectacles spinning into the middle of
the floor. "Massy, how yer look! Tain't wurth it--don't! He
hain't spile't it; I stopped him," she added exultingly.
"Stopped what?" echoed Caryl in bewildered distress. "Oh, do
tell me! Is'nt Aunt Sylvia sick? Tell me, Maum Patty," she
pleaded. And she grasped the old woman's arm in an agony of
suspense.
"Massy, no!" declared Maum Patty in her most cheery tones, "she's
ben a-laughin' fit to kill herself, an' I don't wonder, for the
little rascal looked as cunnin' as an imp. But I stopped him I
stopped him!" she added triumphantly.
Caryl had no strength to ask further, nor to stir.
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