It was upon one of these visits, so indefinitely prolonged that Mammy’s patience was at the snapping point, that she decided to give a needed hint.  Entering the kitchen she said to Aunt Cynthia: 

“‘Pears ter me yo’ must have powerful lot o’ time on han’, Sis’ Cynthy.”

“Well’m I ain’t.  No ma’am, not me,” was Cynthia’s prompt reply, for to tell the truth she was beginning to weary of doling out religious consolation and bodily sustenance, yet hospitality demanded something.

“Well, I reckons Miss Peggy’s cravin’ fer her luncheon, an’ it’s high time she done got it, too.  Is yo’ know de time?”

“Cou’se I knows de time,” brindled Cynthia, “but ‘pears lak time don’ count wid some folks.  Kin yo’ see de clock, Mis’ Jones?”

The question was sprung so suddenly that Minerva jumped.

“Yas’m, yas’m, Mis’ Johnson, I kin see hit; yis, I kin,” answered Minervy, craning her neck for a pretended better view.

“Well, den, please, ma’am, tell me just ’zactly what it is.”

This was a poser.  Minervy knew no more of telling time than one of her own children, but rising from her chair, she said: 

“I ’clar ter goodness, I’se done shed so many tears in ma sorrer and grief over Joshua dat I sho’ is a-loosin’ ma eyesight.”  She then went close to the clock, looked long and carefully at it, but shook her head doubtfully.  At length a bright idea struck her and turning to Cynthia she announced: 

“Why, Sis’ Cynthia, I believes yo’ tryin’ ter projec’ wid me; dat clock don’ strike ’tall.  But I ‘clar I mus’ be a-humpin’ masef todes dera chillern.  I shore mus’.”

“Yes, I’d ’vise it pintedly,” asserted Cynthia, while Mammy Lucy added: 

“It’s sprisin’ how some folks juties slips dey min’s.”

Three days later word came to Severndale that Joshua could hardly survive the day and Peggy, as she felt duty bound, went over to Minervy’s cabin.  She found her sitting before her fire absolutely idle.

“Minervy,” she began, “I have had word from the hospital and Joshua is not so well.  I think you would better go right over.”

“Yas’m, yas’m, Miss Peggy, I spec’s yo’ sees it dat-a-way, honey, but—­ but yo’ sees de chillern dey are gwine car’y on scan’lus if I leaves ‘em.  My juty sho’ do lie right hyer, yas’m it sho’ do.”

“But Minervy, Joshua cannot live.”

“Yas’m, but he ain’ in his min’ an’ wouldn’t know me no how, but dese hyer chillerns is all got dey min’s cl’ar, an’ dey STUMMICKS empty.  No’m, I knows yo’ means it kindly an’ so I teks hit, but I knows ma juty,” and nothing Peggy could say had any effect.

That night Joshua died.  The word came to Severndale early the following morning.

“Well,” said Mrs. Harold, “from her philosophical resignation to the situation yesterday, I don’t imagine she will be greatly overcome by the news.”