As she said this tears, which were none the less sincere because she who wept them belonged to Africa’s sable race, fell upon the once bright but now faded lock of hair, which the faithful creature had for more than forty years preserved as a memento of him whom she had long since looked upon as dead, although she had never ceased to pray for him, and always ended her accustomed prayer, “Now I lay me—­” with the petition that “God would take keer of Marster William and bring him home again.”  Who shall say that the prayer was not answered?

Going back to her seat, she took up her knitting and was soon living over the past, when she was young and dwelt with “the old folks at home.”  Suddenly there came from the house the sound of merry laughter.  High above all the rest was a voice, whose clear, ringing tones made Katy start up so quickly that, as she afterward described it, “a sudden misery cotched her in the back, and pulled her down quicker.”  There was something in the sound of that laugh, which seemed to Katy like an echo of the past.  “But,” thought she, “I’m deaf like and mebby didn’t hear straight.  I’ll go to the kitchen agin and hark.”

In a few minutes she was in the kitchen and dropping down on the meal chest as the first seat handy, she said, “Ho, Judy, is you noticed the strange gentleman’s laugh?”

“I hain’t noticed nothing” answered Judy, who chanced to be out of sorts, because, as she said, “the white folks had done et up every atom of egg; they didn’t even leave her the yaller of one!”

“Well, suthin in his laugh kerried me back to the old plantation in Carlina, and I b’lieve, between you and me, Judy, that Marster William’s here,” said Katy.

“Marster William, Marster William; what on airth do you mean?” asked Judy, forgetting the eggs in her surprise.

At the mention of “Marster William,” who was looked upon as a great man, but a dead one, the little negroes gathered around, and one of them, our old friend, Bobaway, said, “Oh, Laddy, I hope ’tis Marster William, for Marster Josh’ll be so tickled that he won’t keer if we don’t do nothin’ for a week; and I needn’t milk the little heifer, nuther!  Oh, good, good!”

“You go long, you Bob,” said Aunt Judy, seizing a lock of his wool between her thumb and finger, “let me catch you not milking the heifer, and I’ll crack you.”

Again there was the sound of laughter, and this time Judy dropped her dishcloth, while Katy sprang up, saying, “’Tis, I know ’tis; any way, I’ll walk round thar as if for a little airin’, and can see for myself.”

Accordingly, old Katy appeared around the corner of the house just as Mr. Middleton had spoken to his brother of his color.  The moment Mr. Stafford’s eye rested on his old nurse, he knew her.  Twenty years had not changed her as much as it had him.  Starting up he exclaimed, “Katy, dear old mammy Katy,” while she uttered a wild, exultant cry of joy, and springing forward threw her thin, shriveled arms around his neck, exclaiming, “My darling boy, my sweet Marster William.  I knowed ’twas you.  I knowed your voice.  You are alive, I’ve seen you, and now old Katy’s ready to die.”