“Humph! I never did have no 'pinion of them people.” Phillis tossed her turban and cocked her prominent chin. “It's all make money, and save! save! If I was 'lowed to go with you, I'll be bound I'd see you have sech things as you've been 'customed to. The new folks, them what comed from nothin' and nowhar, and made every dollar they can call their own with their own hands, don't know how to feel for and look after real ladies.” “You are wrong about that, if you mean that I have not every comfort I could ask. My house is warm in the bitterest weather, and far more handsomely furnished than this. And I have many kind friends. I like the Northern people, and so would you, if you knew them well.” “They send dreadful poor samples down this way, then,” muttered Phillis, significantly. “And, some as pertends to be somebody is nobody, or wuss, ef the truth was known. Don't talk to me 'bout 'em, Miss Mabel, darling! 'Twas a mighty black day for us when one on 'em fust laid eyes upon Mars' Winston. You've hearn, ain't you, that my house is to be tore down, and I'm to go into the quarters 'long with the field hands and sich like common trash? So long as our skins is all the same color, some folks can't see no difference in us.” “I had not heard it. I am sorry.” Mabel spoke earnestly, for “Mammy's house,” a neat frame cottage a story-and-a-half high, embowered in locust-trees, and with a thrifty, although aged garden--honeysuckle clambering all over the front, was to her one of the dearest pictures of her early days. She could see herself, now--the motherless babe whom Aunt Rachel and Mammy had never let feel her orphanage--sitting on the door-step, bedecking her doll with the odorous pink-and-white blossoms in summer time, and in autumn with the light-red berries. “Why is that done?” she asked. “I spiles the prospect, honey!” fiercely--ironical. “Northern folks has tender eyes, and I hurts 'em--me and my poor little house what ole marster built for me when Mars' Winston was a baby, and your blessed ma couldn't be easy 'thout I was near her--WE spiles the prospect! So, it must be knocked down and carted away for rubbish to build pig-pens, I 'spose, and me sent off to live 'mong low-lived niggers, sech as I've always held myself above. She ain't never put it into Mars' Winston's head to cut down the trees that shets off the “prospect” of the colored people's burying-ground from her winder. There's some things she'd as lief not see. I oughtn't to mind this so much, I know, for I ain't got long for to stay here nohow, but I did hope to die in my nest!” sobbing behind her apron. “I am very sorry--more grieved than you can think!” repeated Mabel. “If I could help you in any way, I would. But I cannot!”