“‘Crompton!’ I repeated, thinking of your parish.

“‘Yes, Mas’r Mason, fo’ God I b’lieve it’s Crompton shu’.  He comed an’ fetched lil chile Dory, the lil girl you seen at the funeral, what seems only yestiddy, one way and in another a big lifetime sense we buried her mother here.’

“‘Who is Mr. Crompton, and how did he know about the child?’ I asked, and Jake replied, ’He is somebody from the Norf, and he’d sent money to Mas’r Hardy in Palatka for Miss Dory, who put it away for de chile.  After she died Mas’r Hardy was gwine to Europe, an’ tole me ’twas Col.  Crompton, Troutburg, Massachusetts, who sent the money, but he wouldn’t say nothin’ else, ’cept that Col.  Crompton had gin him his confidence and he should keep it.  I’m shoo that Miss Dory sent letters through Mas’r Hardy to de Colonel, an’ he writ to her.  Not very offen, though.  She’d sen’ one to Mas’r Hardy, an’ he’d sen’ it Norf, an’ then she’d wait and wait for de answer, an’ when it came you or’to seen her face light up like sun-up on de river in a May mornin’.  An’ her eyes,—­she had wonnerful eyes,—­would shine like de stars frosty nights in Virginny.  Maybe ‘twas mean, but sometimes I watched her readin’ de letter, her han’s flutterin’ as she opened it like a little bird’s wings when it’s cotched.  I think she was allus ‘spectin’ sumptin’ what never comed.  The letters was short, but it took her a mighty time to read ’em, ‘case you see she wasn’t good at readin’ writin’, an’ I ’specs de Colonel’s handwrite wasn’t very plain.  She used to spell out de long words, whisperin’ ’em out sometimes, her face changin’ till all de brightness was gone, an’ it was more like a storm on de river than sun-up.  Den she’d fold de letter, an’ take up de lil chile an’ kiss it, an’ say, “I’ve got you.  We’ll never part.”  Den she’d burn de letter.  I specs he tole her to, an’ she was shoo to mind.  Den she’d go at her readin’ book agin, or writin’, tryin’ to larn, but ‘twixt you an’ I ‘twan’t in her, an’, no direspec’ nuther, de Harrises couldn’t larn from books.  Dey’s quick to ‘dapt theirselves to what they seen, an’ she didn’t see nothin’.

“‘Once she said to me when de big words troubled her an’ floor’d me, “I can never be a lady dis way.  Ef he’d take me whar he is, an’ ’mongst his people, I should larn thar ways, but what can I do here wid—­” She didn’t say “wid Jake an’ Mandy Ann an’ ole granny, an’ de rest of ’em,” but she meant it.  If it hadn’t been for the lil chile she could of gone to school.  I tole her oncet I’d sen’ her an’ take care of de lil chile an’ ole Miss,—­me an’ Mandy Ann.  The tears come in her eyes as she ast whar I’d git de money, seein’ we was layin’ up what come from de Norf for de chile.  I’d done thought that out lyin’ awake nights an’ plannin’ how to make her a lady.  I’se bawn free, you know, an’ freedom was sweet to me an’ slavery sour, but for Miss Dory I’d do it, an’ I said, “I’ll sell myself to Mas’r Hardy, or some gemman like him.”  Thar’s plenty wants me, an’ would give a big price, an’ she should have it all for her schoolin’.