“Happier! Thank heaven! But how and why should she be happier, or happy at all—the poor mother?” inquired Harcourt, more and more bewildered. “Now, young marse, if yo’ will hab patience, an’ let me tell yo’ a straight story, I’ll tell it, an’ no lie; but doane yo’ jump or ’xclaim, or yo’ll be sure to put me out.” “Very well; very well, Martha. Pray go on.” “Well, den, de ole madam, w’en she were wrote for by Miss Marg’et up to de big house, she come yight down, she did—de ole mist’ess did—by de night train, so she ’ribed at Logwood in de dark, lonesome hours arter midnight, an’ got yere jus’ ’fo’ day, de ole madam did, mos’ we’ out.” “Poor, dear mother! At her age, too!” “Yes, at her age, too. It’s de trufe. Well, as my po’ ole man was asleep jus’ den, an’ we didn’t wan’ to wake him, fo’ fear it would shorten ob his days—hours, I mean—I ’suaded ob de ole madam to go to bed, an’ I gib her a cup o’ tea, wid furty drops ob lodomy in it—yes, sah, did—an’ I knowed wot I was a-doin’ ob, fo’ she was dat we’ out, an’ same time dat ’cited, I knowed ef she didn’t go to sleep yight off, somefin would happen to her.” “Martha!” Harcourt exclaimed, “it was a hazardous thing to do, without the doctor’s orders.” “Dere want no doctor in yeach, an’ de case was immigrent. ’Sides w’ich, I knowed wot to do my ownse’f, an’ I did it. De ole madam didn’t train me in nussin’ not fo’ nuffin—de ole madam didn’t, ’deed didn’t she. An’ I gib her de sleepin’ stuff on de sly, unbeknowed to herse’f, I did. An’ de ole mist’ess she took it, an’ went to sleep, an’ slep’ like a angel, she did, de ole mist’ess did, tell two o’clock in de arternoon. My po’ ole man he woke up fus’, my po’ ole man did, and he ’quired ’bout de ole mist’ess, an’ w’en he yeared as she were in de house he were satisfied, my po’ ole man were; an’ he waited patient till she wake up, an’ had her breakfas’, my po’ ole man did. Young marse, if ebber Marfar Mungumbry go to de dark worl’, it’ll be all along ob pious lyin’,” suddenly exclaimed the woman, interrupting her story. “How so?” inquired Harcourt. “’Caze I had to lie yight an’ lef’ dat day.” “But why?” “To keep dem two po’ souls quiet. W’en de ole mist’ess wake up, she say, she do, she say: “‘Is Moses ’wake yet?’ “An’ I answer an’ say, I do: “‘No, ole mist’ess, my po’ ole man is soun’ ’sleep.’ “An’ dat were lie de fus’. An’ den I say: “‘I yeckon by de time yo’ get dress an’ get yo’ breakfas’, my po’ ole man will youse up.’ “Den I jus’ slip ’way one minute to see how my po’ ole man was gettin’ on. An’ dere he was moanin’ to hisse’f, an’ gettin’ berry impatient at long las’, an’ sayin’, as soon as ebber he see me: “‘Is she ’wake yet? Oh, is she ’wake yet?’ “An’ I say: “‘No; she soun’ ’sleep.’