"Miss S'breeny she done tole me to put 'em myse'f on de little table close ter der bed," answered Powlyne, craning her neck to look into the room. Meadows opened the door a little wider, and Powlyne performed her office. Seeing that she was very small and slight, the English girl recovered courage. "I suppose you live here?" she suggested. "Yass, 'm." "And when there isn't any one else 'andy, they send you?" "Dey sonds me when dey wanster, I's Miss S'breeny's maid," answered Powlyne, digging her bare heel into the matting. "Her maid?--for gracious sake! What can _you_ do?" "Tuckenoffener shoes. _En_ stockin's." "Tuckenoffener?" "Haul'em off. Yass,'m." "Well, if I hever!" murmured Meadows, surveying this strange coadjutor, from the erect tails of wool to the bare black toes. There was a loud groan in the hall outside. Meadows started. "Unc' Abram, I spec, totin' up de wood," said Powlyne. "Is he ill?" "Ill!" said the child, contemptuously. "He's dat dair sassy ter-night!" "Is he coming in here? Oh, don't go away!" pleaded Meadows. She had a vision of another incursion of black men in bathing costumes. But Uncle Abram was alone, and he was very polite; he bowed even before he put the wood down, and several times afterwards. "Dey's cookin' suppah for yer, miss," he announced, hospitably. "Dey'll be fried chickens en fixin's; en hot biscuits; en jell; en coffee." "I should rather have tea, if it is equally convenient," said Meadows, after a moment's hesitation. "Dere, now, doan yer _like_ coffee?" inquired Uncle Abram, looking at her admiringly. For it was such an extraordinary dislike that only very distinguished people could afford to have it. "Fer my part," he went on, gazing meditatively at the fire which he had just replenished, "I 'ain't nebber had 'nuff in all my borned days--no, not et one time. Pints wouldn't do me. Ner yet korts. I 'ain't nebber had a gallion." Voices were now heard in the hall. Cicely entered, followed by Eve Bruce. "All the darkies on the island will be coming to look at her to-morrow," said Cicely, after Meadows had gone to her supper; "they'll be immensely stirred up about her. She's still afraid--did you see?--she kept as far away as she could from poor old Uncle Abram as she went down the hall. The field hands will be too much for her; some of the little nigs have no clothes at all." "She won't see them; she goes to-morrow." "That's as you please; if I were you, I would keep her. They will bring a mattress in here for her presently; perhaps she has never slept on the floor?" "I dare say not. But she can for once." Cicely went to one of the windows; she opened the upper half of the shutter and looked out. "How the wind blows! Jupiter Light shines right into your room."