onument a Marshal Niel had twined itself, its clusters of
roses filling the air with perfume. Pushing them a little aside, so that
I could see the lettering more distinctly, he said, 'That's what he tole
me to put thar, jess "Eudora, aged 20." I've left room for another name
when I'm perfectly shu'. I don't want to put no lie on a grave stun, if
her name wan't Crompton.'

"'Crompton!' I repeated, thinking of your parish.

"'Yes, Mas'r Mason, fo' God I b'lieve it's Crompton shu'. He comed an'
fetched lil chile Dory, the lil girl you seen at the funeral, what seems
only yestiddy, one way and in another a big lifetime sense we buried her
mother here.'

"'Who is Mr. Crompton, and how did he know about the child?' I asked,
and Jake replied, 'He is somebody from the Norf, and he'd sent money to
Mas'r Hardy in Palatka for Miss Dory, who put it away for de chile.
After she died Mas'r Hardy was gwine to Europe, an' tole me 'twas Col.
Crompton, Troutburg, Massachusetts, who sent the money, but he wouldn't
say nothin' else, 'cept that Col. Crompton had gin him his confidence
and he should keep it. I'm shoo that Miss Dory sent letters through
Mas'r Hardy to de Colonel, an' he writ to her. Not very offen, though.
She'd sen' one to Mas'r Hardy, an' he'd sen' it Norf, an' then she'd
wait and wait for de answer, an' when it came you or'to seen her face
light up like sun-up on de river in a May mornin'. An' her eyes,--she
had wonnerful eyes,--would shine like de stars frosty nights in
Virginny. Maybe 'twas mean, but sometimes I watched her readin' de
letter, her han's flutterin' as she opened it like a little bird's wings
when it's cotched. I think she was allus 'spectin' sumptin' what never
comed. The letters was short, but it took her a mighty time to read 'em,
'case you see she wasn't good at readin' writin', an' I 'specs de
Colonel's handwrite wasn't very plain. She used to spell out de long
words, whisperin' 'em out sometimes, her face changin' till all de
brightness was gone, an' it was more like a storm on de river than
sun-up. Den she'd fold de letter, an' take up de lil chile an' kiss it,
an' say, "I've got _you_. We'll never part." Den she'd burn de letter. I
specs he tole her to, an' she was shoo to mind. Den she'd go at her
readin' book agin, or writin', tryin' to larn, but 'twixt you an' I
'twan't in her, an', no direspec' nuther, de Harrises couldn't larn from
books. Dey's quick to 'dapt theirselves to what they seen, an