utin'-machine fur me ter-morrer. Yer gwine meck de bargain wid me,
baby?"

Evelyn was so touched that she had not voice to answer. Rising from her
seat, she put her arms around mammy's neck and kissed her old face, and
as she turned away a tear rolled down her cheek. And so the "bargain"
was sealed.

Before going to her desk Evelyn went to her father, to see that he
wanted nothing. He sat, as usual, gazing silently out of the window.

"Daughter," said he, as she entered, "are we in France?"

"No, dear," she answered, startled at the question.

"But the language I hear in the street is French; and see the
ship-masts--French flags flying. But there is the German too, and
English, and last week there was a Scandinavian. Where are we truly,
daughter? My surroundings confuse me."

"We are in New Orleans, father--in the French Quarter. Ships from almost
everywhere come to this port, you know. Let us walk out to the levee
this morning, and see the men-of-war in the river. The air will revive
you."

"Well, if your mother comes. She might come while we were away."

And so it was always. With her heart trembling within her, Evelyn went
to her desk. "Surely," she thought, "there is much need that I shall do
my best." Almost reverentially she took her pen, as she proceeded with
the true story she had begun.

* * * * *

"I done changed my min' 'bout dat ole 'oman wha' stan' fur me, baby,"
said mammy that night. "You leave 'er des like she is. She glorifies de
story a heap better'n my nachel self could do it. I been a-thinkin'
'bout it, an' _de finer that ole 'oman ac', an' de mo' granjer yer lay
on 'er, de better yer gwine meck de book_, 'caze de ole gemplum wha'
stan' fur ole marster, his times an' seasons is done past, an' he can't
do nothin' but set still an' wait, an'--an' de yo'ng missus, she ain't
fitten ter wrastle on de outskirts; she ain't nothin' but 'cep' des a
lovin' sweet saint, wid 'er face set ter a high, far mark--"

"Hush, mammy!"

"_I'm a-talkin' 'bout de book, baby, an' don't you interrup' me no mo'!_
An' _I say ef dis ole 'oman wha' stan' fur me, ef-ef-ef she got a weak
spot in 'er, dey won't be no story to it_. She de one wha' got ter
_stan' by de battlemints an' hol' de fort_."

"That's just what you are doing, mammy. There isn't a grain in her that
is finer than you."

"'Sh! dis ain't no time fur foolishness, baby. Yer 'ain't said nothin'
'bout yo' ma an' de ole