"Ow! the _Conqueror_!" "Yass'm, dat's what I say. And dah wuz yo' ma, an' me, o' co'se, and dah wuz Phyllis, my full fus' cousin--now, ef you cayn't stop a-gigglin' an' wrigglin' long enough fo' me to finish dis----" Ramsey was too unnerved to heed. "How could--" she insisted--"how could a--a mulatto girl be your first cousin?" "Now, you dess neveh min' how! Phyllis wa'n't no mullatteh, nohow. She wuz a quadroom! Heh mullatteh motheh wuz my own sisteh!" "Oh, you mean half-sister!" "I means whole sisteh! Miss Hayle, betteh you dess drap dat subjic' now, an' thaynk Gawd fo' yo' ign'ance!" "All right! all right! whole sister! go on! were you twins?" The querist gave a wild start of surprise at herself and sank to the floor. "Missie," sighed the old woman, "y'ain't neveh in yo' life stopped to think dat niggehs is got feelin's, is you?" The speech was hardly begun before the girl was up and about the protester's neck: "Hush! ple-ease hush! You've said it before, you've said it before, you've said it before, before!" The nurse's eyes filled: "Yass, an' what use it been? De wuss thing I know 'bout good white folks--an' when I says 'good' I means de best!--dat is, dat dey don't _believe_ niggehs is got feelin's!" It was hard to speak on, for Ramsey had pushed her into a chair and was in her lap. "They do! they do, mammy Joy, they do!" She fell to kissing her, first slowly, then wildly as Joy insisted: "No, dey don't. Ef dey did, Phyllis 'ud neveh 'a' come to de pass she came to. But dey don't! Some o' de bes' _believes_ dey believes, dat's all. Oh, I 'llow you, lots o' white folks is got--oh, Lawd! _don't_ spile my breas'-han'kercheh!--is got mo' feelin's dan some niggehs; but lots o' niggehs is got _lots_ mo' feelin's dan some white folks. Mo' an' betteh! Now, my sisteh, my yalleh sisteh----" "Oh, never mind, there's the rising gong! I know your yellow sister must have had feelings. Tell about Phyllis--and the Courteneys--and the _Quakeress_." "Well, I will! Yo' plumb sot on gitt'n' de thing, an'----" "Yes, and it's not a fit story for me to ask _him_ about and you know I'll ask him if I have to! And besides, I just know mom-a's told you to keep me off the hurricane roof any way you can and as long as you can--listen! the big bell! we're meeting a boat, maybe half a dozen! And we're passing to labboard. Come! Come on!" At their own door they espied the passing craft: a single boat, not six; a tiny, cabinless, one-funnelled, unclean, crawling thing, dimly made out in the early dusk of the forested shore which it servilely hugged as if doing all it could to hide its grimy name and identity.