He
couldn't been mo' tender wid his mudder, an' I gwine ter tell de Lawd
w'en I goes home, an' it won't be long--no'm it won't. An' on de wall by
my bed I dun made chalk marks o' de things I gwine tell de Lawd, an' dar
ain't hardly no mo' room fur new marks, da all been so good ter me; but
I gwine make one fur you, honey, caze you looked kind at me. Yas'm, I
is. But I must be gwine. Lawd bless you all; an' you too, strange lady."
And as this old creature walked out she still muttered blessings upon
them; this endeared old link, tenderly binding some of us to one of the
sweetest memories of the past. She is passing over the threshold into
the "big house" of eternity, this mother of love and charity, who sang
the little children to sleep, whose ebon fingers bound the wounds of
youth. She knew enough of God to be all love--of Christ to forgive all
wrongs.
"The wagon's ready," Jasper called, and Mrs. Mayfield turned to Jim.
"Won't you come too?"
He scrambled up, as if stung into action, grabbed his hat, went
boldly close to her and said: "If I thought yo' wish was in yo'
invitation, Satan couldn't hold me back, and the Lord wouldn't.
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