"Now the old lady kin go happy. I always said that I had nussed Mahs
William, an' of I jess could live long 'nuff to--"
Elaine cut in rather abruptly, I thought.
"Why, Mammy, what a beautiful vine you have on your stoop!"
"What's stoop, honey? Dat's a poach."
Mammy lived some years longer, aging comfortably, and unvexed by any
question of fractions. She died a serene integer, with such comfortable
assurance of just valuation as is denied most of us, and contented that it
should be expressed in terms that were, to her, the only sure criterion
applicable to her race.
An Incident
BY SARAH BARNWELL ELLIOTT
It was an ordinary frame house standing on brick legs, and situated on a
barren knoll, which, because of the dead level of marsh and swamp and
deserted fields from which it rose, seemed to achieve the loneliness of a
real height. The south and west sides of the house looked out on marsh and
swamp; the north and east sides on a wide stretch of old fields grown up in
broom-grass. Beyond the marsh rolled a river, now quite beyond its banks
with a freshet; beyond the swamp, which was a cypress swamp, rose a railway
embankment leading to a bridge that crossed the river.
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