"Well, she wa'n't jes as you might say a baby," said Mammy Cely, with scrupulous exactness, "but she was the onlies' one I had, and when a mother loses a child--specially her onlies' one--no matter how old it is, it's her baby. 'Pears lak she always goes back to that.--Yaas, 'm, he sold her--down South. It's more than thirty years sence then. And I ain't never seen her sence." "Oh, Mammy Cely! How could you _bear_ it?" Mammy Cely looked at her with dry eyes. "A body can bear a heap of things, honey, they think they can't when they are yo' age. I bore it because there wa'n't anything else to do. That's why people bear most of their troubles." "Mammy Cely, tell me about it," cried Margaret impulsively. "Sit down and tell me." The old woman took the chair on the other side of the crib. It seemed to her that it might not be a bad thing for Margaret to get her mind upon another trouble that was greater than her own. Perhaps that was it--and perhaps she wanted to tell the story. CHAPTER XIV MAMMY CELY'S STORY "I haven't always lived in Maryland, Miss Margaret," Aunt Cely began. "I was born in Figinny--in Goochland County, near Goochland Co't-'ouse. I belonged to the Davidsons. They was mighty fine people, the Davidsons was. They wa'n't no po' white trash, _I_ tell you! Marse Tom Davidson had mo' niggers than anybody 'roun' there. You could n' step roun' in the back yard 'thout trompin' on a little nigger. And there wa'n't no end to the company they had. Yaas, 'm, the Davidsons was mighty fine people. I haven't got no 'casion to feel 'shamed of _my_ white folks." "But you were going to tell me about your baby," reminded Margaret. She did not care for the Davidsons. "Yaas, 'm, I'm comin' to it. We jes' had one child, Joe and me. Her name was Cassie--Cass, we called her for short. Miss Margaret, Cass was a mighty pretty child. She looked jes' as pretty to me as yo' baby does to you, I reckon. Look lak the color don't make much difference to the mammy of a child. I was mons'us proud of her, and I useter dress her up in a little pink calico dress and ruffled white apron and set and look at her and think, 'Mammy'll work her black fingers to the bone, honey, befo' she'll let any harm come to you!'... But Mammy's fingers couldn't stand 'tween her and harm." The voice stopped and she turned away, shaking her head, mournfully. "Mammy Cely," said Margaret, softly, "if you belonged to the Davidsons, how did you happen to be with the De Jarnettes?"