" enquired the old negress, stopping her rocking and her
lullaby at the same instant.

"The June beetle. I thought he'd break his wings on the ceiling."

"Go 'way f'om hyer, honey, he ain' gwine breck 'is wings. Dar's moughty
little sense inside er dem, but dey ain' gwine do dat. Is yo' wits done
come back?"

"Not quite. I feel crazy. Aunt Euphronasia!"

"W'at you atter, Marse Ben?"

"How did Sally manage?"

"Ef'n hit's de las' wud I speak, she's done managed jes exactly ez ef'n
she wuz de Lawd A'moughty."

"And she didn't suffer?"

"Who? She? Dar ain' none un us suffer, honey, we'se all been livin' on
de ve'y fat er de lan', we is. Dar's been roas' pig en shoat e'vy
blessed day fur dinner."

She had talked me down, and I turned over again and lay in silence,
until Sally came in with a dose of medicine and a cup of broth.

"Have I been very ill, Sally?"

"Very ill. It was the long mental strain, followed by the intense heat.
At one time we feared that a blood vessel was broken. Now, put
everything out of your mind, and get well."

She had taken off her gingham apron, and was wearing one of her last
summer's dresses of flowered organdie. I remembered that I had always
liked it because it had blue roses over it.

"How can I get well when I know that you have been starving?"

"But we haven't been. We've had everything on earth we wanted."

"Then thank God you got help. Whom did you go to?"

Putting the empty glass aside, she began feeding me spoonfuls of broth,
with her arm under my pillow.

"If you will be bad and insist upon knowing--I didn't go to anybody. You
said you couldn't bear being helped, you know."

"I said it--oh, darling--but I didn't think of this!"

"Well, I thought of it, anyway, and I wasn't going to do while you were
ill and helpless what you didn't want me to do when you were well."

"You mean you told nobody all these weeks?"

"Well, I told one or two people, but I didn't accept charity from them.
The General was away, you know, but some people from the office came
over with offers of help--and I told them we needed nothing. Dr.
Theophilus was too far away to treat you, but he has come almost every
day with a pitcher of Mrs. Clay's chicken broth. Oh, we've prospered,
Ben, there's no doubt of that, we've prospered!"

"How soon may I get up?"

"Not for three weeks, and it will be another three weeks even if you're
good, before you can go back to the office."

A sob rose in