The old woman gave him a swift glance, and then seeing Graeme hand him his ticket, she turned her back, and began to fish in some mysterious recess in her garments, and after a long exploration brought out a small bag containing her ticket. “Is he one of your servants!” she asked Graeme in an undertone. Graeme smiled. “Well, I think he is--he is everybody's servant and friend.” “I did n't know. He comes roun' inquirin' 'bout my business so officious I thought sure he was one o' dese Gov'ment folks, and I done had 'nough to do wid dat kind.” “Like Amos Brown, Caesar's friend.” It was a sore subject with the old woman. “Well, I did n't know--I thought he was one o' dese perliss. So I sent him 'long 'bout he own business. But if you know him it 's all right.” The passengers who streamed through the great station the evening of her arrival, were surprised to see a pudgy old black woman escorted by a gentleman who, loaded down with her bundles and baskets, was guiding her through the throng as respectfully as if she had been the first lady in the land. At the gate a lady and several children were awaiting her, and at sight of her a cry of joy went up. Dropping her bundles, the old woman threw herself into the lady's arms and kissed her again and again, after which she received a multitude of kisses from the children. “Well, I never saw anything like that,” said a stranger to another. “She is their mammy,” said the other one simply, with a pleasant light in his eyes. The old woman's presence seemed to transform the house. She was no sooner installed than she took possession. That very morning she established her position, after a sharp but decisive battle with the airy “colored lady,” who for some days had been dawdling about the house. The mammy had gauged her as soon as her sharp eyes fell on her. “What does yo' call yo'self?” she asked her. “What is my name? I am called 'Miss Johnson--Miss Selina Johnson.'” The old woman gave a sniff. “Yo' is! Well, what does yo' call you'self doin' heah?” “You mean what is my employment! I am the help--one of the help.” “Yo' is!” Mam' Lyddy tightened her apron-strings about her stout waist. “Well, 'Miss Johnson,' you git holt of that mat-trass and help me meek up dis heah bed so it 'll be fit for you' mistis to sleep on it.” With a jerk she turned up the mattress. The maid was so taken aback for a moment that she did not speak. Then she drew herself up. “I know I ain' gwine to tetch it. I done made it up onct to-day. An' I ain't got no mistis.” The mammy turned on her. “Umh'm! I thought so! I knows jest yo' kind. Well, de sooner you git out o' dis room de better for you. 'Cause if I lay my han' 'pon you I won't let you go till I'se done what yo' mammy ought to 'a' done to you ev'y day o' yo' life.”