“Nuffin. She couldn’ do nuffin. I made her a narrow bed out ob bolsters an’ pillows on de flo’, an’ put her on it, an’ kivered her up, an’ den tuk de big kitchen table an’ stood it up ober her, an’ hung quilts an’ blankets ober dat to keep off de win’ an’ de rain, wot soon poured down like No’s flood. Oh, young marse, dat was de wus’ night I ebber see in all my life.” “And your poor mistress?” “Oh, young marse, next mornin’ de sto’m was ober, an’ de sun shinin’ an’ smilin’, good-natured as a angel, on to our wracked an’ ruinated home. An’ ’deed anybody not intrusted mought even ’a’ laughed—de place did look dat queer, wid eberyt’ing all yight, ’cept ’twas de ruff off, an’ de yooms all open to de sky, an’ po’ ole mist’ess tucked up unnerneaf ob de table.” “I should think it was no laughing matter,” said Harcourt, in grave rebuke. “No mo’ it wa’n’t, young marse—’deed wa’n’t it! De po’ ole mist’ess was berry ill—in a high feber—doane be scared, young marse! Yo’ know, I telled yo’ she were well an’ happy now.” “Go on,” was all that Harcourt found it possible to say. “I didn’t know wot to do. I was ’fraid to leabe ole mist’ess, an’ ’fraid not to run fo’ ’sistance. Anyway, dem Wyn’ops up to de big house was lookin’ out wid a spyglass at de damage done by dat darnado, an’ dey see de ruff offen our cabin, an’ dey sent young Mr. Silence down yere to see arter us. Oh, young marse, dem Norfen furriners is good people, fo’ w’en dey see de trouble we was in, an’ de ole mist’ess in a high feber, an’ ’tirely out’n her head, they sent a kivered wagon down yere an’ had her lif’ into it, bed an’ all, an’ dey carry her up to de big house, an’ tell me to come along, too, till de ruff was put on de cabin again. An’ dat was de way de ole mist’ess come to be up at de big house as was once her own home—not, as I b’liebe she would ebber hab gone inter dat house ef she hadn’t been out’n her head.” “No, I am sure she would not,” sighed poor Harcourt. “But I mus’ say it was a bressed fing as she did go, young marse. It saved her life. An’ w’ere does yo’ tink dey put de ole madam?” “In the back building, or in the garret?” “No, sah! Dey put her in bed in her own bressed ole yoom—de parlor bedyoom, w’at opens offen de drawin’-yoom on one side an’ de back piazza on de t’oder! Yes, sah, dey put her dere, an’ it were jus’ as she lef’ it free years ago. Same flowered chintz bed curt’ins, an’ same windy curt’ins. Yes, an’ same rag carpet as I helped to make myself! Same corner cupboard, an’ same armchair wid same patchwork cushions on it. Yes, sah, it were. An’ dey put de ole madam in it, jus’ de same as if she had nebber lef’ it. Yes, sah, I did ax Miss Mar’get, wot is a werry nice young w’ite gal, how it war, an’ she tell me her mudder like dat yoom so w’en she fus’ see it she wouldn’ hab nuffin change’ into it, but kep’ it for comp’ny jus’ so. An’ dey put ole mist’ess inter it. Now wot does yo’ tink ob dat fo’ de Wyn’ops?”