"Well, my soul!" she cried; "well, my soul! Marse Ed., its good to see
you home again. Come in, chile, come right in! How mis'able you do
look to be sure. Just like a ghost, so cold and white. Shan't I mix
you a little something warm?"
"Oh, no, Olly, I'm all right; just a little tired after my long
journey, that's all."
She recognized the lifelessness in his tone, the jaded look and air of
one who is fighting a hard battle in the face of sure defeat. "You's
sick, honey," she exclaimed, with the ready sympathy of her race, "and
you's come back to old Olly to take care ob you. Dat's right, chile,
I'll just mix you a little warm--"
"Oh, dear, no, Olly, thank you; its comfort enough just to be quiet
and to be at home."
She left him in the parlour, but he pushed on after her into the great
fire-lit kitchen, partly because he detested the society of his own
thoughts, partly because it suited his present mood to be made much of
by the kindly old woman, to whom his mother all her life had been a
"chile." It was almost like being a boy again to sit in the chimney
corner and tell old Olly the story of his journey in all its details.
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