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He sat up and heard faintly, far afield, the voices of Leviticus, Virginia, Willis, Trudie, and Johanna, singing one of the wild, absurd, and yet passionately significant hymns of the Negro Christian worship.
"Besides, papas don't sell their little girls!" "Oh, yes, they do! Gus said so to Trudie!" Clare knew that Trudie meant her sister Gertrude. "Who is Gus?" he asked. "Trudie calls him Gus. I don't know more name to him. Perhaps they call him something else in the bank." "Oh! he's in the bank, is he?" returned Clare. "Then I think I know him." "He said it to her one night in my nursery.
"An' Dod bless ev'ybody, Uncle Leviticus, an' Aunt Jinny, an' Johanna, an' Willis, an' Trudie, an' C'nelius" a sigh "an mom-a, an' that's all an' " "And pop-a?" No response. The mother prompted again. Still the child was silent. "And pop-a, you know the best last." "An' Dod bless the best last," said Barbara, sadly. A pause. "Don't you know all good little girls ask God to bless their pop-a's?"
In the grove gate the horseman galloped ahead; but Barbara did not once look up until at the porch-steps she saw yellow Willis, the lame ploughman, smiling and limping forward round the corner of the house; Trudie, the house girl, trying to pass him by; Johanna wildly dancing; Aunt Virginia, her hands up, calling to heaven from the red cavern of her mouth; Uncle Leviticus, her husband, Cornelius's step-father, holding the pawing steed; gladness on every face, and the mistress of Rosemont drawing from the horseman's arm to welcome her ragged guest.
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