"The ole woman means," she said, looking him steadily in the eye, "that you are dealin' in chile slavery, law or no law; that you're down heah preachin' one thing for niggahs an' practisin' another for yo' own race; that yo' hair frizzles on yo' head at tho'rt of niggah slavery, whilst all the time you are enslavin' the po' little whites that's got yo' own blood in their veins. An' now you wanter know what I come for? I come for my chile!" Kingsley was too dumfounded to speak. In all his life never had his hypocrisy been knocked to pieces so completely. "What does all this mean?" asked Jud Carpenter rushing hastily into the room. "Come on baby," said the old woman as she started toward the door. "I've got a home for us, an' whilst old mammy can take in washin' you'll not wuck yo' life out with these people." Jud broke in harshly: "Come, ole 'oman,--you put that child down. You've got nothin' to support her with." She turned on him quickly: "I've got mo' silver tied up in ole socks that the Conways give me in slavery days when they had it by the bushel, than sech as you ever seed. Got nothin'? Jus' you come over and see the little home I've got fixed up for Marse Ned an' the babies. Got nothin'? See these arms? Do you think they have forgot how to cook an' wash? Come on, baby--we'll be gwine home--Miss Helen'll come later." "Put her down, old woman," said Carpenter sternly. "You can't take her--she's bound to the mill." "Oh, I can't?" said the old woman as she walked out with Lily--"Can't take her. Well, jes' look at me an' see. This is what I calls Zion, an' the Lam' an' the wolves had better stay right where they are," she remarked dryly, as she walked off carrying Lily in her arms. Down through a pretty part of the town, away from Cottontown, she led the little girl, laughing now and chatting by the old woman's side, a bird freed from a cage. "And you'll bring sister Helen, too?" asked Lily. "That I will, pet,--she'll be home to-night." "Oh, Mammy, it's so good to have you again--so good, and I thought you never would come." They walked away from Cottontown and past pretty houses. In a quiet street, with oaks and elms shading it, she entered a yard in which stood a pretty and nicely painted cottage. Lily clapped her hands with laughter when she found all her old things there--even her pet dolls to welcome her--all in the cunningest and quaintest room imaginable. The next room was her father's, and Mammy's room was next to hers and Helen's. She ran out only to run into her father's arms. Small as she was, she saw that he was sober. He took her on his lap and kissed her. "My little one," he said--"my little one"-- "Mammy," asked the little girl as the old woman came out--"how did you get all this?"