“That's exactly like her,” Helen smiled. “Well, you all must go now, and, Jennie, tell her I am dying to see her.” The room was soon cleared of its chattering and laughing throng, and Linda, supported by her husband, a stalwart mulatto, came from her cottage behind the house and went up to Helen's room. She was short, rather portly, about half white, and for that reason had a remarkably intelligent face which bore the marks of a strong character. Entering the room, after sharply enjoining her husband to wait for her in the hall, she went straight up to Helen and laid her hand on the young lady's head. “So I got my baby back once mo',” she said, tenderly. “Yes, I couldn't stay away, Mammy,” Helen said, with an indulgent smile. “After all, home is the sweetest place on earth--but you mustn't stand up; get a chair.” The old woman obeyed, slowly placing the chair near that of her mistress and sitting down. “I'm glad you got back, honey,” she said. “I loves all my white folks, but you is my baby, en I never could talk to de rest of um lak I kin ter you. Oh, honey, yo' old mammy has had lots en lots er trouble!” “I know, Mammy, father wrote me about it, and I've heard more since I got here. I know how you love Pete.” Linda folded her arms on her breast and leaned forward till her elbows rested on her knees. Helen saw a wave of emotion shake her whole body as she straightened up and faced her with eyes that seemed melting in grief. “Honey,” she said, “folks said when de law come en give we all freedom dat de good day was at hand. It was ter be a time er plenty en joy fer black folks; but, honey, never while I was er slave did I had ter suffer what I'm goin' thoo now. In de old time marster looked after us; de lash never was laid on de back er one o' his niggers. No white pusson never dared to hit one of us, en yit now in dis day er glorious freedom, er whole gang of um come in de dead er night en tied my child wid ropes en tuck turn about lashin' 'im. Honey, sometimes I think dey ain't no Gawd fer a pusson wid one single streak er black blood in 'im. Ef dey is er Gawd fer sech es me, why do He let me pass thoo what been put on me? I heard dat boy's cryin' half er mile, honey, en stood in de flo' er my house en couldn't move, listenin' en listenin' ter his screams en dat lash failin' on 'im. Den dey let 'im loose en he come runnin' erlong de street ter find me--ter find his mammy, honey--his mammy who couldn't do nothin' fer 'im. En dar right at my feet he fell over in er faint. I thought he was dead en never would open his eyes ergin.” “And I wasn't here to comfort you!” Helen said, in a tearful tone of self-reproach. “You were alone through it all.”