"Now look at dat!" cried Mrs. Morton dolefully. "Look at dat! Ain't
dat de doggonest luck in de wide worl'! De gyahd he say dat Dago
willin' pay fifty cents a day fo' me to teck an' bring a message eve'y
mawn' tell de quahumteem took off de cellar. Now dat Dutch gal gone
an' loss dat money fo' me--movin' 'way whuh nobody cain't fine 'er!"

"Sho!" laughed the widow. "Ef I'se in you place, Miz Mo'ton, an' you's
in mine, dat money sho'lly, sho'lly nevah would be los', indeed hit
wouldn't. I dass go in t' de do' an' tu'n right 'roun' back ag'in an'
go down to dat gyahd an' say de Dutch gal 'ceive de message wid de
bes' er 'bligin' politeness an' sent her kine regyahds to de Dago man
an' all inquirin' frien's, an' hope de Dago man soon come an' git
'er. To-morrer de same, nex' day de same--"

"Lawd, ef dat ain't de beatenest!" cried Mrs. Morton
delightedly. "Well, honey, I thank you long as I live, 'cause I
nevah'd a wuk dat out by myself an de livin' worl', an' I sho does
needs de money. I'm goin' do exackly dass de way you say. Dat man he
ain' goin' know no diffunce till he git out--an' den, honey," she let
loose upon the quiet air a sudden, great salvo of laughter, "dass let
him fine Lize Mo'ton!"

Bertha went to live in the tiny room with the canary bird and the
engraving of the "Rock of Ages." This was putting lime to the canker,
but, somehow, she felt that she could go to no other place. She told
the landlady that her young man had not done so well in business as
they had expected, and had sought work in another city. He would come
back, she said.