drawl so altered even the commonest words, that she did not recognize them. Turning to Jos, she said gently, “I know very little English. I am so sorry I cannot understand. Will it tire you to interpret to me what your mother said?”
Jos was as full of humor as his mother. “She wants me to tell her what you wuz sayin',” he said, “I allow, I'll only tell her the part on't she'll like best.—My mother says you can stay here with us till the storm is over,” he said to Ramona.
Swifter than lightning, Ramona had seized the woman's hand and carried it to her heart, with an expressive gesture of gratitude and emotion. “Thanks! thanks! Señora!” she cried.
“What is it she calls me, Jos?” asked his mother.
“Señora,” he replied. “It only means the same as lady.”
“Shaw, Jos! You tell her I ain't any lady. Tell her everybody round where we live calls me 'Aunt Ri,' or 'Mis Hyer;' she kin call me whichever she's a mind to. She's reel sweet-spoken.”
With some difficulty Jos explained his mother's disclaimer of the title of Señora, and the choice of names she offered to Ramona.
Ramona, with smiles which won both mother and son, repeated after him both names, getting neither exactly right at first trial, and finally said, “I like 'Aunt Ri' best; she is so kind, like aunt, to every one.”
“Naow, ain't thet queer, Jos,” said Aunt Ri, “aout here 'n thes wilderness to ketch sumbody sayin' thet,—jest what they all say ter hum? I donno's I'm enny kinder'n ennybody else. I don't want ter see ennybody put upon, nor noways sufferin', ef so be's I kin help; but thet ain't ennythin' stronary, ez I know. I donno how ennybody could feel enny different.”
