There was a boisterous laugh at the master's joke from the assembled
crowd. Nothing abashed, the good-natured mother replied, with ready
wit,

"Dat so, Marse Kunnel. He's _brack_, he is. None ob yer bleached
out yaller sort of coffee-cullud nigger 'bout _him_. De rale
ole giniwine kind, dat a coal make a white mark on. Yah I yah! what
yer gwine ter name him, Mahs'r? Gib him a good name, now, none o'
yer common mean ones, but jes' der bes' one yer got in yer book;"
for Colonel Desmit was writing in a heavy clasped book which rested
on a light stand beside him.

"What is it, Mahs'r?"

"Nimbus," replied the master.

"Wh--what?" asked the mother. "Say dat agin', won't yer, Mahs'r?"

"Nimbus--_Nimbus_," repeated Desmit.

"Wal, I swan ter gracious!" exclaimed the mother. "Ef dat don't
beat! H'yer! little--what's yer name? Jes' ax yer Mahs'r fer a
silver dollar ter pay yer fer hevin' ter tote dat er name 'roun'
ez long ez yer lives."

She held the child toward its godfather and owner as she spoke, amid
a roar of laughter from her fellow-servants. Desmit good-naturedly
threw a dollar into the child's lap, for which Lorency courtesied,
and then held out her hand.