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But mammy found her special charge when the elder Northcope came. It seemed that she could never do enough for the pale, stooped old man, and he declared that he had never felt better in his life than he grew to feel under her touch. An injury to his spine had resulted in partially disabling him, but his mind was a rich store of knowledge, and his disposition was tender and cheerful. So it pleased his son sometimes to bring Mima over to see him.

The warm, impulsive heart of the Southern girl went out to him, and they became friends at once. He found in her that soft, caressing, humoring quality that even his son’s devotion could not supply, and his superior age, knowledge and wisdom made up to her the lost father’s care for which Peggy’s love illy substituted. The tenderness grew between them. Through the long afternoons she would read to him from his favorite books, or would listen to him as he talked of the lands where he had been, and the things he had seen. Sometimes Mammy Peggy grumbled at the reading, and said it “wuz jes’ lak’ doin’ hiahed wo’k,” but Mima only laughed and went on.

Bartley saw the sympathy between them and did not obtrude his presence, but often in the twilight when she started away, he would slip out of some corner and walk home with her.

These little walks together were very pleasant, and on one occasion he had asked her the question that made her pale and red by turns, and sent her heart beating with convulsive throbs that made her gasp.

“Maybe I’m over soon in asking you, Mima dear,” he faltered, “but–but, I couldn’t wait any longer. You’ve become a part of my life. I have no hope, no joy, no thought that you are not of. Won’t you be my wife?”

They were pausing at her gate, and she was trembling from what emotion he only dared guess. But she did not answer. She only returned the pressure of his hand, and drawing it away, rushed into the house. She durst not trust her voice. Bartley went home walking on air.

Mima did not go directly to Mammy Peggy with her news. She must compose herself first. This was hard to do, so she went to her room and sat down to think it over.

“He loves me, he loves me,” she kept saying to herself and with each repetition of the words, the red came anew into her cheeks. They were still a suspicious hue when she went into the kitchen to find mammy who was slumbering over the waiting dinner. “What meks you so long, honey,” asked the old woman, coming wide awake out of her cat-nap.

“Oh,–I–I–I don’t know,” answered the young girl, blushing furiously, “I–I stopped to talk.”

“Why dey ain no one in de house to talk to. I hyeahed you w’en you come home. You have been a powahful time sence you come in. Whut meks you so red?” Then a look of intelligence came into mammy’s fat face, “Oomph,” she said.

“Oh mammy, don’t look that way, I couldn’t help it. Bartley–Mr. Northcope has asked me to be his wife.”

“Asked you to be his wife! Oomph! Whut did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. I was so ashamed I couldn’t talk. I just ran away like a silly.”

“Oomph,” said mammy again, “an’ whut you gwine to tell him?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Don’t you think he’s a very nice young man, Mr. Northcope, mammy? And then his father’s so nice.”

Mammy’s face clouded. “I doan’ see whaih yo’ Ha’ison pride is,” she said; “co’se, he may be nice enough, but does you want to tell him yes de fust t’ing, so’s he’ll t’ink dat you jumped at de chanst to git him an’ git back in de homestid?”

“Oh, mammy,” cried Mima; she had gone all white and cold.

“You do’ know nothin’ ’bout his quality. You a Ha’ison yo’se’f. Who is he to be jumped at an’ tuk at de fust axin’? Ef he wants you ve’y bad he’ll ax mo’ dan once.”