“It ain’t I ain’t grateful to you-all,” said she.  “God knows I be.  You was good to Louisa.  Doctor, you remember that day you give her a ride in your ottermobile an’ forgot to bring her home for more ’n a hour?  My, but that child was happy!”

“‘Ma,’ says she when I come home that night, ’you know what heaven is?’

“‘Child,’ says I, ‘folks like me mostly knows what it ain’t.’

“‘I beat you, ma!’ says she, clappin’ her hands.  ‘Heaven ain’t nothin’ much but country an’ roads an’ trees an’ butterflies, an’ things like that,’ says she.  ‘An’ God’s got ottermobiles, plenty an’ plenty ottermobiles, an’ you ride free in ’em long’s you feel like it, ’cause that’s what they’s for.  An’, ma,’ says she, ’God’s, showfers is all of ’em Dr. Westmorelands and Mr. Flints.’  Yea, suh, you-all been mighty kind to Louisa.  But I reckon,” she drawled, “it was Mr. Flint Louisa loved best, him bein’ a childern’s kind o’ man, an’ on account o’ Loujaney.”  She laid a hand upon the rag doll lying on the little girl’s arm.

“From the first day you give her that doll, Mr. Flint—­which she named Loujaney, for her an’ me both—­that child ain’t been parted from it.”  She smiled down at the two.  I could almost have prayed she would weep instead.  It would have been easier to bear.

“The King’s Daughters, they give her a mighty nice doll off their Christmas tree last year, but Louisa, she didn’t take to it like she done to Loujaney.

“‘That doll’s jest a visitin’ lady,’ says she, ’but Loujaney, she’s my child.  Mr. Flint made her a-purpose for me, same’s God made me for you, ma, an’ she’s mine by bornation.  I can live with Loujaney.  I ain’t a mite ashamed afore her when we ain’t got nothin’, but I turn ’tother’s face to the wall so she won’t know.  Loujaney’s pore folks same’s you an’ me, an’ she knows prezac’ly how ’t is.  That’s why I love her so much.

“An’ day an’ night,” resumed the drawling voice, “them two’s been together.  She jest lived an’ et an’ slept with that doll.  If ever a doll gits to grow feelin’s, Loujaney’s got ’em.  I s’pose I’d best give that visitin’ doll to some child that wants it bad, but I ain’t got the heart to take Loujaney away from her ma.  I’m a-goin’ to let them two go right on sleepin’ together.

“Mr. Flint, suh, seein’ Louisa liked you so much, an’ it’s you she’d want to have it—­” she leaned over, pushed the thick fair hair aside, and laid her finger upon a very whimsy of a curl, shorter, paler, fairer than the others, just above the little right ear.

“Her pa useter call that the wishin’ curl,” said she, half apologetically.  “You see, suh, he was a comical sort of man, an’ a great hand for pertendin’ things.  I never could pertend.  Things is what they is an’ pertendin’ don’t change ’em none.  But him an’ her was different.  That’s how come him to pertend the Lord’d put the rainbow’s pot o’ gold in Louisa’s hair with a wish