"Yes um, we all likes Aunt Judy, she's a good ole 'oman, I thought Jim was here wid her. Don't know who he is? Jim is her gran'son, a mighty shiftless, wuthless chap, but I thought arter she bin so good to him he'd a stayed wid her when she got down. But I'll stay and do all I kin."
Cherokee thanked her gravely, gratefully.
The darkey went on whispering:
"De ole 'oman bin mighty 'stressed 'bout dyin'. She didn't mind so much the dyin' ez she wanted to be kyaried to de ole plantation to be buried 'long wid her folks. Dat's more'n ten or 'leven miles, and she knowd dey wouldn't haul her dat fur—'spec'ly ef de weather wus bad. I 'spec worrin' got her down."
Cherokee told the visitor to try and arouse her, now that she had had time to rest after her meal.
She took up one of her worn brown hands.
"How do you feel, Aunt Judy?"
"Porely, porely," she stammered almost inaudibly.
"Why didn't you let we-all know?"
"Thar warn't nobody to sen' 'roun'."
"Whars Jim?" the visitor enquired.
Her face gloomed sadly.
"Law, hunny, he took all de money Mas'r left me, and runned away." She looked up with tears in her eyes.
