"
"You are a widow, I presume," said Edith, her black eyes brimming
with fun.
"Yes, chile, I'se been a widdy thirty year, an' Uncle Abe was such
a well-to-do nigger, a trifle shaky in the legs, I know; but it
don't matter. Marster St. Claire wouldn't part the family, he
said, and nothin' to do but I must come. Uncle Abe's cabin was
comfable enough, and thar was a hull chest of Rhody's things, a
doin' nobody no good."
Aunt Judy paused, and looked into the fire as if seeing there
images of the absent Abel, while Edith regarded her intently,
pressing her hands twice upon her forehead, as if trying to retain
a confused, blurred idea which flitted across her mind.
"Judy," she said, at last, "it seems to me I must have seen YOU
somewhere before, though where, I don't know."
"Like enough, honey," returned Judy. "Your voice sounds mighty
nateral, and them black eyes shine an' glisten like some oder eyes
I seen somewhar. Has you been in Floridy, chile?"
"No," returned Edith; "I was born in New York City, I believe.
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