"An' stay 'way all nights f'om yo' pa, when you de onlies' light ter 'is eyes? No, no, honey!" "But it has been my only offer, and sometimes I think--" "Hush talkin' dat-a-way, baby. Don't yer pray? An' don't yer trus' Gord? An' ain't yer done walked de streets tell you mos' drapped down, lookin' fur work? An' can't yer teck de hint dat de Lord done laid off yo' work _right heah in the house_? You go 'long now, an' cheer up yo' pa, des like you been doin', an' study yo' books, an' write down true joy an' true sorrer in yo' stories, an' glorify Gord wid yo' sense, an' don't pester yo'se'f 'bout to-day an' to-morrer, an'--an'--an' ef de gorspil is de trufe, an'--an' ef a po' ole nigger's prayers mounts ter heaven on de wings o' faith, Gord ain't gwine let a hair o' yo' head perish." But mammy pondered in her heart much concerning the financial outlook, and it was on the day after this conversation that she dressed herself with unusual care, and, without announcing her errand, started out. Her return soon brought its own explanation, however, for upon her old head she bore a huge bundle of unlaundered clothing. "What in the world!" exclaimed Evelyn; but before she could voice a protest, mammy interrupted her. "Nuver you mind, baby! I des waked up," she exclaimed, throwing her bundle at the kitchen door. "I been preachin' ter you 'bout teckin' hints, an' 'ain't been readin' my own lesson. Huccome we got dis heah nice sunny back yard, an' dis bustin' cisternful o' rain-water? Huccome de boa'din'-house folks at de corner keeps a-passin' an' a-passin' by dis gate wid all dey fluted finery on, ef 'twarn't ter gimme a hint dat dey's wealth a-layin' at de do', an' me, bline as a bat, 'ain't seen it?" "Oh, but, mammy, you can't take in washing. You are too old; it is too hard. You _mustn't_--" "Ef-ef-ef-ef you gits obstropulous, I-I-I gwine whup yer, sho. Y-y-yer know how much money's a-comin' out'n dat bundle, baby? _Five dollars!_" This in a stage-whisper. "An' not a speck o' dirt on nothin'; des baby caps an' lace doin's rumpled up." "How did you manage it, mammy?" "Well, baby, I des put on my fluted ap'on--an' you know it's ironed purty--an' my clair-starched neck-hankcher, an'--an' _my business face_, an' I helt up my head an' walked in, an' axed good prices, an' de ladies, dee des tooken took one good look at me, an' gimme all I'd carry. You know washin' an' ironin' is my pleasure, baby." It was useless to protest, and so, after a moment, Evelyn began rolling up her sleeves. "I am going to help you, mammy," she said, quietly but firmly; but before she could protest, mammy had gathered her into her arms, and carried her into her own room. Setting her down at her desk, she exclaimed: "Now, ef _you_ goes ter de wash-tub, dey ain't nothin' lef fur _me_ ter do but 'cep'n' ter _set down an' write de story_, an' you know I can't do it." "But, mammy, I _must_ help you."