The old man began stirring the bowl of his pipe absently. "'Bout we gittin' ol', Hannah, an' maybe some day we'll drap off an' leave Marse Harol's chile all by she se'f, like de chillen in de wilderness. "What mek you mek me say it, Hannah? _You_ knows what 'sponsibility Gord done laid on we two. Ain't we done talked it over a hond'ed times 'fo' now?" "Dat ain't _all_ what 's on my mind, Isrul." "What else is you got to fret yo'se'f about, Hannah? Ain't I mekin' you a good livin'? Ain't you had de money to put a new little silk frock away every yeah for de Blossom, and ain't dey all folded away, one a-top de yether, 'g'inst de answer to our prayers, so her daddy'll see her dressed to her station when he comes sudden? Ain't you got a one-way-silk alapaca frock an' a good bonnet for yo'se'f to tek de chile by de han' wid--when Gord see fitten to answer us? You ain't _hongry_--or _col'_, is yer?" "G' way, Isrul! Who's studyin' about victuals or clo'es! I 's ponderin' about de chile, dat 's all. 'T ain't on'y 'bout we gittin' ol'. _She_ 's gittin' _tall_. An' you know, Isrul, you an' me we ain't fitten to raise Marse Harol's chile. She's big enough to study quality manners an' white behavior. All Marse Harol's fam'ly's chillen knowed all de fancy high steps an' played scales on de pianner wid bofe hands at once-t, time dey was tall as Blossom is--an' dey made dancin'-school curtsies, too. I taken notice, Blossom is sort o' shy, an' she gittin' so she'll stand off when anybody speaks to her. Dis heah cabin on de river-bank ain't no place for my white folks. I sho' is pestered to see her gittin' shy an' shamefaced--like po' folks. Modest manners and upright behavior is her portion. I _know_ it by heart, but I can't _show_ it to her--I know it by knowledge, but of co'se I can't perform it; an' it frets me." "Hannah!" "What is it, Isrul?" "Who gi'n us dis 'sponsibility? Is we axed for it?" "No, Isrul, we ain't axed for it." "Ain't you an' me promised Mis' Agnes, de day she died, to keep his chile, safe-t an' sound, tell Marse Harol' come?" "Dat 's six yeahs past, dis comin' Christmus, Isrul. I b'lieve Marse Harol' done dead an' gone." "Huccome you believe he dead? Is he come to you in de sperit?" "No, he ain't come, an' dat 's huccome hope stays wid me. If he was free in de sperit lan' he sho' would come an' gimme a sign. But reason is reason, an' ef he _ain't_ dead, huccome he don't come an' look arter his chile? My white folks warn't nuver shirkers--nor deserters. So, when I stays off my knees awhile an' casts away faith in de unseen, seem dat my horse-sense hit gives me trouble. An' den, like to-night, somehow my courage sinks, an' look like I kin see him dead an' forgot in some ol' ditch on de battle-field. "Jes _s'posin'_ dat 's de trufe, Isrul, what we boun' to do wid Blossom?" "Hannah!" "Yas, Isrul." "You done heared a plenty o' preachin', ain't yer?" "Yas, Isrul." "Is you ever heared a preacher preach 'bout _s'posin'_?"