And I spozed, and kep’ on a spozin’ for more than a hour, that she wuz a neighborin’, till after she went out of the room for a few minutes, Maggie said she wuz a young colored girl, a “quadroon” she called her, that she had hired to help take care of Snow. Sez I in deep amaze: “That girl colored?” “Yes,” sez Maggie. “Wall,” sez I, “she is handsomer than any girl I ever sot eyes on that wuz oncolored.” “Yes,” sez Maggie, “Genny is a beautiful girl, and jest as good as she is pretty.” “Wall,” sez I, “that is sayin’ a good deal.” Maggie told me her name was Genieve, but they called her Genny. Wall, my daughter Maggie had spells all that evenin’ and the next day of comin’ and puttin’ her arms round me, and sort o’ leanin’ up aginst me, as if she wuz so glad to lean up aginst sunthin’ that wouldn’t break down under her head. I see she had been dretful skairt and nervous about Thomas Jefferson and Snow, and I don’t blame her, for they wuz very sick children, very. And there she (in her own enjoyment of poor health too) had had all the care and responsibility on her own self. But I tell you she seemed real contented when her head sort o’ rested and lay up aginst my shoulder, or breast-bone, or arm, or wherever it happened to lay. And she sez, and kep’ a sayin’, with a voice that come from her heart, I knew: “Oh, Mother! how glad, how thankful I am you have come!” And Thomas Jefferson felt jest so, only more so. He would reach out his weak white hand towards me, and I would take it in both of my warm strong ones, and then he would shet up his eyes and look real peaceful, as if he wuz safe and could rest. And he sez more than once, “Mother, I am goin’ to get well now you have come.” And I sez, cheerful and chirk as could be, “Of course you be.” I’d say it, happy actin’ as could be on the outside, but on the inside my heart kep’ a sinkin’ several inches, for he looked dretful sick, dretful. Maggie, the weak one when they left Jonesville, wuz the strongest one now except the young babe, that wuz flourishin’ and as rosy as the roses that grew round the balcony where he used to lay in his little crib durin’ the hot days. As soon as I got rested enough I took sights of comfort a walkin’ round the grounds and a smellin’ the sweet breath of the posies on every side of me. And watchin’ the gay birds a flutterin’ back and forth like big livin’ blossoms on wing. And a listenin’ to the song of the little rivulet as it wound its way round amongst the pretty shrubs and flowers, as if it wuz loath to leave so beautiful a place. Yes, I see that our son Thomas Jefferson had done well to make the dicker he had made and get this place for his own.