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He had changed back to Roxy's dress, with the stoop of age added to the disguise, so that Wilson would not bother himself about a humble old women leaving a neighbor's house by the back way in the early morning, in case he was still spying. But supposing Wilson had seen him leave, and had thought it suspicious, and had also followed him? The thought made Tom cold.
Pore Jack! Sing, Tommy, sing!" "There," whispered the white man, softly, and was gone. Mary breathed only the words to Virgie, "Kidnappers come!" and they glided from the old tenement unobserved, and entered the copse along the stream. "Pore Jack! Pore Jack! His leetle Roxy's gone away. Pore Jack! Roxy! Roxy! Roxy!" the mourner at the window above chattered sleepily to the nodding bird.
Roxy laughed a laugh proportioned to her size, and said: "Oh, I kin tell 'em 'part, Misto Wilson, but I bet Marse Percy couldn't, not to save his life." Wilson chatted along for awhile, and presently got Roxy's fingerprints for his collection right hand and left on a couple of his glass strips; then labeled and dated them, and took the "records" of both children, and labeled and dated them also.
"Did you see a shadow dodge behind Roxy's cottage just a minute ago, Phyllis?" he asked, in a whisper that was enough to make almost any girl's blood run cold in her body. "I did," I answered him in just as blood-curdling a whisper, "but Uncle Pompey goes out to see after his hens just about this time every night. I think that was the shadow." "Of course," Tony laughed in a human voice again.
The children of both families called her Aunt Statira, but, if the truth were known, she loved little Frank Bugbee, James's only son, better than she did the whole brood of her sister Roxy's flaxen-pated offspring. Nay, she loved him better than all the world besides.
"I jess got 'em, Jimmy," interjected Jack Wonnell, with his peculiar wink and leer, "caze Roxy's the belle of Prencess Anne, and I'm the bell-crown. She's my little queen, and I ain't ashamed of her." "Courtin' niggers, air you!" Jimmy exclaimed, collaring Jack again. "Now whar did you go all day Sunday with Levin Dennis and the nigger buyer? What hokey-pokey wair you up to?" "Mr.
Polly Stedman has given me cinnamon three times, and I know the girls think I'm stingy! I'm so ashamed!" And Roxy's red cheeks and shining brown eyes brimmed up and overflowed with tears. Poor little Roxy! she herself had such a big sweet tooth! It was absolutely impossible for her to refuse a piece of stick cinnamon or a peppermint drop.
She had the caprice to remain where she was when the family wagon arrived, for it had been too warm to walk to the Tabernacle. Roxy's voice called her, and as she answered, Roxy skipped across the brook and ran to her. "Cousin Emeline," the breathless girl announced, "here comes Mary French to see you!" Emeline stiffened upon the log. "Where?"
From Roxy's manner of speech, a stranger would have expected her to be black, but she was not. Only one sixteenth of her was black, and that sixteenth did not show. She was of majestic form and stature, her attitudes were imposing and statuesque, and her gestures and movements distinguished by a noble and stately grace.
There were rustic window boxes of birch, filled with nasturtiums and Wandering Jew. Inside the store there were two counters, one on either side as you entered, and these had been Mr. Peckham's contribution to the good cause. Several old hickory armchairs from Cousin Roxy's helped to give the interior an inviting appearance, and Sally put up little, thin scrim curtains at the windows.
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