‘Dat baby is _his_? Oh, de false man!’ cried the coolie, with flashing eyes, as she sprang to her feet, and held little Henri at arm’s length. ‘And dis chile ob mine, dis white-skinned boy, who you think _he_ ’long to, Aunty Jessica? Why, to that villain too! Dat’s his fader! Your fine Massa Courcelles, what ruin your missy and me same time!’ ‘What you say, Jerusha? Your baby’s fader de oberseer?’ ‘Sure! Didn’t he favour me ober all de other coolie girls on de plantation? Didn’t he give me my earrings and bangles and my Sunday shawl, and tell me I de prettiest girl he ebber see? And I fool enough to believe him, Aunty; I thinkin’ he lub me allays, and be good to me, for little Henri’s sake. But when he found I should hab a baby, he sent me back to de fields, and I work dere till I nearly drop. And he beat me--yes, Aunty!’ shrieked Jerusha in her rage, as she turned her flaming eyes up to the skies; ‘he whipped me and my poor baby, and laughed when I dared him to strike us! And I vowed to hab my revenge on him, and I will hab it yet. Massa Courcelles shall live to wish he nebber deceived a poor coolie girl, or struck her baby! That’s so!’ ‘And _I’ll_ help you, Jerusha, for I hate dat man, and I swore once to give him obeah water for deceiving my poor missy. And now he serve you de same--dat’s twice bad; and I know anudder heart what he’s broken, though she as good and pure as de white May lilies in de garden--and dat’s Miss Lizzie.’ ‘Nebber _Miss Lizzie_!’ cried Jerusha incredulously. ‘Miss Lizzie do wicked ting? Why, she’s de best woman I ebber see!’ ‘No, no, Jerusha! I not mean dat. Only dis villain make lub to de poor gal, and promise to marry her, and now she breakin’ her heart because he so false. Rosa tell me eberyting. She pretend to be asleep in verandah dis morning, and hear all they say. Miss Lizzie ’clare she nebber, nebber marry him now.’ ‘She miserable woman if she do,’ said Jerusha. ‘But hush, Aunty Jess, here come Miss Lizzie. Don’t say nuffin ’bout little Henri ’fore her. She too good and sweet! She not like us! I never dare tell her who was his fader.’ As the coolie spoke, Lizzie came up to them, pale but smiling. She carried her basket as usual on her arm, and as soon as she saw little Henri, she drew a small sponge-cake from a selection of such dainties which she carried for the sick, and held it out to him. ‘What a beauty he grows, Jerusha! He will soon be out of arms now, and toddling after you everywhere.’ ‘Yes, Missy Liz, he bery fine boy,’ replied the young mother, in a subdued tone. ‘Is anything the matter?’ said Lizzie, quickly glancing from Jerusha to the old nurse. ‘No bad news of Miss Maraquita, I hope, Jessica?’ ‘Oh, no, Missy Liz. Missy quite well enough, I guess. ’Tis them she leave behind what feel bad.’ ‘You miss her, I daresay, and the White House seems dull without her. Well, you will soon be gay enough when the wedding takes place.’