Ole Miss tried to teach her to sew and to spin, but restraint was galling, the Big House with its civilization had no attraction after the novelty had worn off, and suddenly the wheel burred, the thread snapped, and Cely would leap like a tiger-cat through the doorway and beyond the wood-lot, where later they would find her, tenderly nursing in her arms a doll made of a folded towel. But time was kinder even than Ole Miss, and after a while the laugh and smile came back, Henry’s cabin was cheery again, and before the picking was over, Cely was rivalling Susan and Rachel in the field. * * * * * Down in a little cabin by the cane-brake, old Maumer, now “the Other Maumer,” lived alone, weaving shuck mats, mending nets for the fishermen, and “hooking” mittens for the negroes against the coming of the winter; for Maumer was deposed, another Maumer reigned over the little wooden cradles, and _her_ foot was not permitted to cross the threshold; for Maumer had been tried and convicted of murder by a jury of her peers. Ole Marse, upon careful investigation, could find nothing culpable in Maumer save the failure to report the illness, which was made the cause of removal. The charge, made by Cely and the other negroes, of poisoning could not be substantiated; though the attack appeared to have been very sudden, it could not be proved that the child had died from other than a dreaded infantile trouble. Throughout the trial and investigation Maumer preserved a sullen silence. She neither appealed to Ole Marse nor to any of the negroes. She did not plead her long life of usefulness, and she denied none of the charges, that grew each day with the rapidity of Jonah’s gourd. Now and again she smiled grimly as she looked upon the thriving child in sleepy Cindy’s arms and heard that Little Miss had taken him for her own. That was glory enough; that was honor, immortality. He would grow up a house nigger—“high quality”—_her_ grandchild, in the eyes of the world, in the eyes of even Cindy, for she could not trust Cindy with her secret, and Cindy was too stupid to know the difference. Her eyes greedily took in the splendor of Little Miss’s gifts on each successive visit, carefully looking them over, clothes and beads and toys, like a miser counting gold, and it was enough. This sufficed for days alone in the cane-brake, for nights when the wind was high, even though she was now the Other Maumer and had been set apart. * * * * * The spring-time came around, but weeks and months were long, and the winter of loneliness was telling upon the Other Maumer. She missed the spring-time crop of babies, the wooden cradles with their worn rockers—worn by _her_ foot; she missed the little toddlers that had outgrown the cradles, but more than all, she missed her dignity of position. In the brief time, so long to youth and age, the old back became more bowed, and childishness grew apace.