At first she didn’t seem to relish the idee of my meddlin’ with her, but as days went on and she see that I wuz inclined to mind my own business, and to help her once in a while when she wuz in a bad place, she seemed to get easier in her mind, and would talk considerable free with me. But she never thought anything of me compared to what she did of Maggie. She jest worshipped her; and Maggie wuz dretful good to her, gin her a sight besides her wages, and took care on her when she wuz sick, jest as faithful and good as she would of her own Ma or of me. And Aunt Mela had sick spells often with what she called “misery in her back and misery in her head.” I spoze it wuz backache and headache, that is what I spoze. Wall, Aunt Mela sot store by Maggie, for the reasons I have stated, and then she _liked_ her. And you can’t always parse that word and get the real true meanin’ of the why and the wherefore, _why_ we jest take to some folks and can’t help it. Wall, as I said, Aunt Mela wuz a wonderful good cook, a Baptist by persuasion, and I guess she meant to be as good as she could be, and honest. I believe she tried to be. She had tried to keep the Commandments, or the biggest heft of ’em, ever sence she had jined the meetin’ house; and then she loved Maggie so well that she hated to wrong her in any way. But old influences and habits wuz strong in her, and she had common sense enough and honesty enough to recognize their power. One day Maggie and I went out into the vegetable garden back of the house, and she had stopped in the kitchen for sunthin’, and she left the keys of the storeroom in the lock. And Aunt Mela come a hurryin’ after us into the garden with the keys in her hand. “Miss Maggie, chile, hain’t I tole you not to lef’ dem keys in de lock, an’ now you’ve dun it agin.” She wuz fairly tremblin’ with her earnestness, her white turben a flutterin’ in the mornin’ breeze and the air of her agitation. “Why, Aunt Mela, you was there; what hurt would it do for me to leave them? You are honest, you wouldn’t take anything.” “Miss Maggie, honey, chile, don’ you leave dem keys dah no moah. You say I’m hones’, an’ so I hopes I am. But den agin I don’ know. But when anybody can’t do sumpin’, den dey _don’_ do it, an’ don’ you leave dem keys dah no moah.” “Why, Aunt Mela, I trust you,” sez Maggie in her sweet voice. “I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.” “To hurt you? No, honey. But den how can I tell when ole Mars Saten will jes’ rise up an’ try to hurt ole Mela? He may jes’ make me do sumpin’ mean jes’ to spite me for turnin’ my back on him. He jes’ hates Massa Jesus, ole Saten duz, an’ he’s tried to spite me ebery way sense I jine him. “So you jes’ keep dem keys, Miss Maggie, and if ole Saten tells me to get sumpin’ outen dat stow room to teck to my sister down to Eden Centre, I’ll say: “‘You jes’ go ’long! I can’t do it nohow, for Miss Maggie done got de keys.’” Maggie took the keys and tried to keep them after this.