"I tell you what, Jim, I wouldn't wonder if that's the very one for you," said J.C., puffing leisurely at his cigar, and still keeping his eyes fixed upon the figure in white, as if to one of his fastidious taste there was nothing very revolting in seeing Maude Remington wash the supper dishes, even though her hands were brown and her arms a little red.
James did not answer immediately, and when he did he said: "Do you remember a little girl we met in the cars between Springfield and Albany, several years ago when we were returning from school? She was a funny little black-eyed creature, and amused us very much with her remarks."
"I wouldn't wonder if I remembered her," returned J.C., "for didn't she say I looked as if I didn't mean for certain? I tell you what it is, Jim, I've thought of the speech more than a thousand times when I've been saying things I did not mean to foolish girls and their mammas. But what reminded you of her?"
"If I mistake not, that child and the young lady yonder are one and the same. You know she told us her name was Maude Remington, and that the naughty man behind us wasn't her father, and she didn't like him a bit, or something like that."
"And I honor her judgment both in his case and mine," interrupted J.C., continuing, after a moment: "The old fellow looks as that man did. I guess you are right. I mean to question 'Cuffee' on the subject," and he beckoned to John, who was passing at no great distance.
"Sambo," said he, as the negro approached, "who is that young lady using the broom-handle so vigorously?" and he pointed to Maude, who was finishing her domestic duties by brushing the crumbs from the carpet.
"If you please, sar, my name is John," answered the African, assuming a dignity of manner which even J.C. respected.
"Be it John, then," returned the young man, "but tell us how long has she lived here, and where did she come from?"
Nothing pleased John better than a chance to talk of Maude, and he replied: "She came here twelve years ago this very month with that little blue-eyed mother of hern, who is lyin' under them willers in the graveyard. We couldn't live without Miss Maude. She's all the sunshine thar is about the lonesome old place. Why, she does everything, from takin' care of her crippled half-brother to mendin' t'other one's gownd."
"And who is t'other one?" asked J.C., beginning to feel greatly interested in the negro's remarks.
"T'other one," said John, "is Miss Nellie, who won't work for fear of silin' her hands, which some fool of a city chap has made her b'lieve are so white and handsome," and a row of ivory was just visible, as, leaning against a tree, John watched the effect of his words upon "the fool of a city chap."
J.C. was exceedingly good-natured, and tossing his cigar into the grass he replied, "You don't mean me, of course; but tell us more of this Maude, who mops the floor and mends Nellie's dresses."
"She don't mop the floor," muttered John. "This nigger wouldn't let her do that--but she does mend Nellie's gownds, which I wouldn't do, if I's worth as much money as she is!"
If J.C. had been interested before, he was doubly interested now, and coming nearer to John he said: "Money, my good fellow! Is Maude an heiress?"
"She aint nothin' else," returned John, who proceeded to speak of Janet and her generous gift, the amount of which he greatly exaggerated. "Nobody knows how much 'tis," said he: "but everybody s'poses that will and all it must be thirty or forty thousand," and as the doctor was just then seen riding into the yard John walked away to attend to his master's horse.
"Those butter and cheese men do accumulate money fast," said J.C., more to himself than to his companion, who laughingly replied, "It would be funny if you should make this Maude my cousin instead of Nellie. Let me see--Cousin Nellie--Cousin Maude. I like the sound of the latter the best, though I am inclined to think she is altogether too good for a mercenary dog like you."
"Pshaw!" returned J.C., pulling at the maple leaves which grew above his head, "I hope you don't think I'd marry a rude country girl for her money. No, give me la charmant Nellie, even though she cannot mend her dress, and you are welcome to Cousin Maude, the milkman's heiress."
At that moment Mrs. Kelsey and Nellie appeared upon the stoop, and as Maude was no longer visible the young gentlemen returned to the parlor, where J.C. asked Nellie to favor him with some music. Nellie liked to play, for it showed her white hands to advantage, and seating herself at the piano she said: "I have learned a new song since I saw you, but Maude must sing the other part--maybe, though, I can get along without her."
This last was said because she did not care to have Maude in the parlor, and she had inadvertently spoken of her singing. The young men, however, were not as willing to excuse her, and Maude was accordingly sent for. She came readily, and performed her part without the least embarrassment, although she more than once half paused to listen to the rich, full tones of James' voice, for he was an unusually fine singer; Maude had never heard anything like it before, and when the song was ended the bright, sparkling eyes which she turned upon him told of her delight quite as eloquently as words could have done.
"You play, I am sure, Miss Remington," he said, as Nellie arose from the stool.
Maude glanced at her red hands, which J.C. would be sure to notice, then feeling ashamed to hesitate for a reason like this, she answered, "Yes, sometimes," and taking her seat she played several pieces, keeping admirable time, and giving to the music a grace and finish which Nellie had often tried in vain to imitate.
"Mr. De Vere did not expect you to play all night," called out the envious girl, who, not satisfied with having enticed J.C. from the piano, wished James to join her also.
