seldom found outside of the old
Southern homes, she bent forward, spread her apron with both hands, and
with a little backward dip had said as she left me that first day:
"Thank ye, suh! I'll come eve'y Sunday mawnin'. I'll do my best to
please ye, an' I specs I kin."

I do not often work on Sunday, but my picture had been too long delayed
waiting for a faded wedding dress worn once by the original when she
was a bride, and which had only been found when two of her descendants
had ransacked their respective garrets.

"Mus' be mighty driv, suh," she said, "a workin' on de Sabbath day.
Golly, but dat's a purty lady!" and she put down her pail. "I see it
las' Sunday when I come in, but she didn't had dem ruffles 'round her
neck den dat you done gib her. 'Clar' to goodness, dat chile look like
she was jes' a-gwine to speak."

Aunt Chloe was leaning on her broom, her eyes scrutinizing the portrait.

"Well, if dat doan' beat de lan'. I ain't never seen none o' dem
frocks since de ole times. An' dem lil low shoes wid de ribbons
crossed on de ankles! She's de livin' pussonecation--she is so, for a
fac'. Uhm! Uh!" (It is difficult to convey this peculiar sound of
complete approval in so many letters.)

"Did you ever know anybody like her?" I asked.

The old woman straightened her back, and for a moment her eyes looked
into mine. I had often tried to draw from her something of her earlier
life, but she had always evaded my questions. Marny had told me that
his attempts had at first been equally disappointing.

"Body as ole's me, suh, seen a plenty o' people." Then her eyes sought
the canvas again.

After a moment's pause she said, as if to herself: "You's de real
quality, chile, dat you is; eve'y spec an' spinch o' ye."

I tried again.

"Does it look like anybody you ever saw, Aunt Chloe?"

"It do an' it don't," she answered critically. "De feet is like hern,
but de eyes ain't."

"Who?"

"Oh, Miss Nannie." And she leaned again on her broom and looked down
on the floor.

I heaped up a little pile of pigments on one corner of my palette and
flattened them for a high light on a fold in the satin gown.

"Who was Miss Nannie?" I asked carelessly. I was afraid the thread
would break if I pulled too hard.

"One o' my chillen, honey." A peculiar softness came into her voice.

"Tell me about her. It will help me get her eyes right, so you can
remember her better. They don't look human enough to me