By-and-by it was getting-up time.
So I come down the ladder and started for down-stairs; but as I come to the girls’ room the door was open, and I see Mary Jane setting by her old hair trunk, which was open and she’d been packing things in it—getting ready to go to England.
But she had stopped now with a folded gown in her lap, and had her face in her hands, crying. I felt awful bad to see it; of course anybody would.
I went in there and says: 'Miss Mary Jane, you can’t a-bear to see people in trouble, and I can’t—most always. Tell me about it. ' So she done it. And it was the niggers—I just expected it.
She said the beautiful trip to England was most about spoiled for her; she didn’t know how she was ever going to be happy there, knowing the mother and the children warn’t ever going to see each other no more—and then busted out bitterer than ever, and flung up her hands, and says: 'Oh, dear, dear, to think they ain’t ever going to see each other any more!
' 'But they will—and inside of two weeks—and I know it! ' says I. Laws, it was out before I could think! And before I could budge she throws her arms around my neck and told me to say it again, say it again, say it again!
I see I had spoke too sudden and said too much, and was in a close place.
I asked her to let me think a minute; and she set there, very impatient and excited and handsome, but looking kind of happy and eased-up, like a person that’s had a tooth pulled out. So I went to studying it out.
I says to myself, I reckon a