The one remaining object of real value was the famous loving-cup.  With this turned into money he would be able to pay Jemima in full.  For days he debated the matter with himself, putting the question in a dozen different lights:  it was not really his cup, but belonged to the family, he being only its custodian; it would reflect on his personal honor if he traded so distinguished a gift—­one marking the esteem in which his dead father had been held, etc.  Then the round, good-natured face and bent figure of his old stand-by and comfort—­who had worked for him and for his father almost all her life—­rose before him, she bending over her tubs earning the bread to keep her alive, and with this picture in his mind all his fine-spun theories vanished into thin air.  Todd was summoned and thus the last connecting link between the past and present was broken and the precious heirloom turned over to Kirk, the silversmith, who the next day found a purchaser with one of the French secretaries in Washington, a descendant of the marquis.

With the whole of the purchase money in his hands and his mind firmly made up he rang for his servant: 

“Come along, Todd—­show me where Aunt Jemima lives—­it’s somewhere down by the market, I hear—­I’m going now.”

The darky’s face got as near white as his skin would allow:  this was the last thing he had expected.

“Dat ain’t no fit place for ye, Marse George,” he stammered.  “I’ll go an’ git her an’ bring her up; she tol’ me when I carried dat las’ washin’ down she wuz a-comin’ dis week.”

“No, her sister is sick and she is needed where she is.  Get your basket and come along—­you can do your marketing down there.  Bring me my hat and cane.  What’s the matter with her sister, do you know?”

Again the darky hedged:  “Dunno, sah—­some kin’ o’ mis’ry in her back I reckon.  Las’ time Aunt Jemima was yere she say de doctor ’lowed her kittens was ’fected.” (It was another invalid limping past the front steps who had put that in his head.)

St. George roared:  “Well, whatever she’s got, I’m going to pay my respects to her; I’ve neglected Aunt Jemima too long.  No—­my best hat—­don’t forget that I’m going to call on a very distinguished colored lady.  Come, out with it.  How far does she live from the market?”

“Jes’ ’bout’s far’s from yere to de church.  Is you gwine now?  I got a heap o’ cleanin’ ter do—­dem steps is all gormed up, dey’s dat dirty.  Maybe we better go when—­”

“Not another word out of you!  I’m going now.”  He could feel the money in his pocket and he could not wait.  “Get your basket.”