Lo'd's hand in dis racket. It doan seems nat'ral to me fo' de Lo'd to
let King George lose a good an' beau'ful country, an' den gib him sich
a jumpin'-off place as dis instead. An', chile, I doan believe dat de
Lo'd ever meant yo' to come here."

"Why, Mammy? Do I look any the worse for it?"

"Yo' couldn't look worse, Missie Jean, not if yo' tried ebber so hard."

"Come, come, Mammy, I am surprised at you," and the girl's eyes
sparkled with merriment. "What do you mean by saying I couldn't look
worse? I didn't know I was as hideous as all that."

"I didn't say yo' was hidjus, Missie Jean. I jes said yo' couldn't
look worse, an' ye can't. Yo' kin only look beau'ful. Why, chile, it
makes my ol' heart ache when I t'ink of sich a lubly creature as yo'
bein' buried alive 'way off in de woods."

"But I don't intend to be buried alive, Mammy. I hope to live a good
many years yet, and only buried when I am dead."

"Ah, chile, dere is more ways den one of bein' buried alive. I am
t'inkin' of de lonely life in de woods, wif no nice young men to look
at yer pretty face, lubly eyes, an' beau'ful hair. An' ye'll hab no
chance to wear fine clothes an' be admired."

"Mammy." There was a note in the girl's voice which caused the colored
woman to glance quickly up.

"What is it, chile?"