can never do nuffin for you. What you do it for?" she sobbed.

"Just because you _are_ poor, because you _are_ friendless, because you
_are_ old and black, Aunt Mabel. And more than that, I shall be well
paid for my pains. Oho, you don't know every thing," said May,
cheerfully.

"I used to hear buckra parson read out of the Book, when I was down in
the plantation, that whomsoever give to the poor lend it to the Lord;
is that it, honey?" she asked, wiping the tears from the furrows of her
swarthy cheeks.

"That is just it, my dear old aunty, so you have found out how selfish
I am, after all. You are the creature of God as well as I; in _His_
sight _your_ soul is as precious as mine. We are truly brethren in our
eternal interests. Then you are very old and helpless, which makes me
pity you. Now, let me have some wood in here, and make you a fire--a
regular, rousing fire."

"Maybe so--maybe so," said old Mabel, thoughtfully; "but, look here,
Miss May, what that you say 'bout wood, eh? You gwine out to cut some
of the trees down in Howard's Park, I reckon?" she said, laughing and
chuckling, highly diverted at the idea.

"No, ma'am, for there is a load of good wood at your door, which is now
being sawed for your benefit."

"Did you do that too, Miss May?"

"Never mind who did it," said May, who ran out and gathered up a few