"That sholy is got the favor of Miss Margaret,--and Philip too. Jes' look at the little thing with his face pressed up ag'in hers. That's what he wants to do now! A chile don't want no mo' heaven than that. Yes, sir,"--respectfully--"I reckon that'll do him a heap er good. That young girl certainly was thoughtful! She was so." There was the slightest drawing down of the corners of Mammy Cely's mouth, as if to combat a tendency they had to go up. Richard had not much more than settled himself again with John Fiske when he heard Mammy Cely lumbering down the stairs. "Marse Richard!" "Well? What do you want now?" His tone was decidedly irritated. "I reckon you'll have to come. The picture don't 'pear to meet the case. Hit's worse an' mo' of it! Soon as he seed his ma's face he busted right out. He's jes' howlin' now." Very reluctantly Mr. De Jarnette ascended to his nephew's room. Frightful wails corroborated the truth of Mammy Cely's assertions and the accuracy of her descriptive powers. The sounds stopped abruptly as the gentleman entered the room, for a man was an unknown quantity in Philip's experience, and his uncle was a stranger to him. But such a tempest of lamentation cannot be shut off entirely at a moment's notice. The child's breath came in convulsive sobs that threatened to disrupt his little body. "What is the matter, Philip?" asked Mr. De Jarnette, sitting down by the bed. "What are you crying about?" "I--I want--my--my--my _mama_!" "You can't have your mama now. She isn't here." "But--I--_want_ my mama!" "Philip, didn't you hear me say your mama was not here?" Mr. De Jarnette spoke rather sternly. Then, with full confidence in his nephew's reasoning powers, he proceeded to explain that his mama was in the city, miles and miles away from here--that even if he could see her in the morning it would be impossible to do it to-night--that if he was a good little boy, _maybe_-- There is no telling what imprudence he might have been led into by his desire for peace, but at this juncture Philip, who had been quieted for a while by the strangeness of a masculine voice, broke out afresh: "I want--my ma-a-ma!" "He's answerin' yo' argyments the same way he did mine, Marse Richard. The color of 'em don't 'pear to make no diff'unce." It didn't indeed. However forcible and logical was Mr. De Jarnette's line of reasoning, however convincing it seemed temporarily, no sooner was it ended than Philip, with a child's insistent iteration, made reply: "But I want my ma-a-ma!" "You git a chile in that frame of mind," moralized Mammy Cely, "and hits reasonin' powers is mighty weak. Jes' as well try to argue with a dose of ipecac after it's down." "Go on out of here!" commanded Mr. De Jarnette, pausing in his strides across the room with Philip in his arms. And Mammy Cely retired, greatly pleased with the turn affairs were taking. At the sound of the closing door, Philip broke out into renewed lamentations. His only friend was gone.