‘Wall, he’s not quite a lord yet, but I ’spect he will be bime-by. But he’s a great rich gennelman, and the Governor of San Diego, and that’s next to being a king--jes’ so! But I wish my missy take me up to hills with her. I never been lef’ behind before. I can’t tell why my missy think to go widout me.’ ‘Praps she want de lord all to herself--’ ‘I not interferin’ wid her little games! All her life I let her do jes’ as she like; and she don’t mind ole Jessica! Ah, I know more dan one secret ob my missy’s--you bet, Jerusha!’ ‘I dessay! All gals hab dere secrets, and dere lovers too. Dis lord not Missy Quita’s first lover, _I_ know.’ ‘Why, o’ course not--handsome young lady like dat. But de good looks not allays de good heart. Missy not grateful, ’pears to me,’ grumbled Jessica. ‘She not want me any longer now she got Sir Russell to wait on her.’ ‘De good looks not allays de good heart,’ echoed Jerusha; ‘you may well say _dat_, Aunty Jess. De good looks sometimes cover de debbil’s heart--like Massa Courcelles’!’ ‘Sakes! what you know ’bout _him_, Jerusha?’ ‘I don’t know no _good_ of him, Aunty.’ ‘Jes’ like all de rest ob de world. I nebber could bear dat oberseer; he berry bad fellow; and dis morning he ’sulted me dreffully. Jes’ hear, Jerusha. I comin’ from White House, quiet as could be, wid nothin’ to do, now my missy gone, when I meet dat Courcelles walkin’ along and swearin’ to himself. He came straight up to me and he say, “Out ob my way, you d--d old hag! If it hadn’t been for your peepin’ and listenin’, I believe I should have had my own way. Wait till I get you down to de cotton fields agen, and I’ll serve you out for dis.”’ ‘Laws, Aunty Jess, and what _you_ say?’ ‘_I_ say “You jes’ stop dat, you bad man. I knows all about you; and you’ll nebber get me down to cotton fields agen, for if you tries it, I’ll blow de roof ob de Oleander Bungalow off your head, and tell de ole master eberyting!”’ ‘An’ what is der to tell?’ cried Jerusha, with sudden interest. ‘Sakes, gal, more than _you_ guess! But I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you, now my missy safe, and goin’ to marry de Governor. ’Sides, my missy not behave berry grateful to me. ’Tis de way wid de white folk. Why, Jerusha, dat oberseer Missy Quita’s lover for ober a year, and she go out night after night to meet him in de bungalow, as I’m a livin’ woman--’ ‘She--go--meet--Massa Courcelles?’ gasped Jerusha. ‘Sure! And more, dat baby down at Doctor’s bungalow no more Miss Lizzie’s child than it is yours. Dat baby ’long to Missy Quita and Massa Courcelles. _I_ knows! but I never tell till my missy so ungrateful as to leave me behind, and dat man swear and call me “d--d hag!” But you nebber tell nobody else, Jerusha! You keep dat secret like your life, till de wedding’s ober--and then, what matter?’