I done ast him, but he say as 'didn't I git
ma money's worth?' an' den ebberbody laugh, an' he shove me 'long
wid de rest of de folks, an' here I is."
"She's sick, dat's what _I_ says," Mandy declared, excitedly;
"an' somebody's got to do somethin'!"
"I done all I knowed," drawled Hasty, fearing that Mandy was
regretting her twenty-five-cent investment.
"Go 'long out an' fix up dat ere kitchen fire," was Mandy's
impatient reply. "I got to keep dem vittels warm fer Massa
John."
She wished to be alone, so that she could think of some way to
get hold of Polly. "Dat baby- faced mornin'-glory done got Mandy
all wobbly 'bout de heart," she declared to herself, as she
crossed to the window for a sight of the pastor.
It was nearly dark when she saw him coming slowly down the path
from the hill. She lighted the study-lamp, rearranged the
cushions, and tried to make the room look cheery for his
entrance. He stopped in the hall and hung up his hat. There was
momentary silence. Would he shut himself in his room for the
night, or would he come into the study? At last the door opened
and Mandy hastened to place a chair for him.
"Ah's 'fraid you'se mighty tired," she said.
"Oh, no," answered Douglas, absently.
"Mebbe you'd like Mandy to be sarvin' your supper in here
to-night.
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