"You do look so pretty, Flora! And I am so glad to see you. Come up-
stairs to my room and take off your things."
"It isn't half the fun going to school now that you don't come, Sylvia,"
responded Flora, as the three friends went up the broad staircase
together. "Mammy," with her baskets, followed them, and when she had
helped her little mistress lay aside her cape and hat, Flora said:
"You can go home now, Mammy, And my mother will tell you when to come
after me."
"Yas, Missy," responded the old colored woman, and with a curtsey to
each of the little girls she left the room.
"What makes your mammy look so sober, Flora?" questioned Grace. "She is
usually all smiles; but to-day she hasn't a word to say for herself."
"Oh, the darkies are all stirred up over all this talk about their being
set free," Flora answered, "and even Mammy, who was Mother's nurse, and
has always been well taken care of, thinks it would be a fine thing for
her children and grandchildren to be 'jes' like white folks,'" and Flora
laughed scornfully.
"But that needn't make her look sober!" insisted Grace.
"I reckon she's upset because my mother sold two or three little slaves
yesterday--Mammy's grandchildren," Flora answered carelessly.
Sylvia could feel her face flushing, and she said over to herself that
no matter what Flora said that she, Sylvia, must remember that Flora was
her guest. Beside that, had not Flora taken off the blue cockade so that
Sylvia would not be reminded of the trouble at school?
But Grace felt no such restraints.
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