"You see, Miss Mary, I named my children King and Lewis 'cause my white folks named my brothers King and Lewis."
The ceremony of introducing her sons to _her_ old _white folks_ being performed to her satisfaction, she again turned her attention to me, and again literally overwhelmed me with caresses.
Entering the house, I asked Frances and her children to come in too.
"Have you not heard, Frances, that ma is dead?"
"Seem to me I has heard somethin' about it, but some how I didn't believe it. And my poor Miss Polly is dead! Well, she ain't dead, but she's gone to heaven."
And Frances became quite hysterical in demonstrations of grief.
"And Marse Thomie, what about him, Miss Mary?"
"He was killed by the enemy at Franklin, Tenn., the 30th of November, 1864."
"Miss Mary, did them old Yankees kill him?"
And again, whether sincere or affected, Frances became hysterical in demonstrations of grief.
"Miss Mary, whar's Miss Missouri? Is she dead too?"
"No; that was she who was sitting in the portico with me as you were coming up the avenue. She always has to go off and compose herself before meeting any of you--ma was that way, too--I suppose you remind her of happier days, and the contrast is so sad that she is overcome by grief and has to get relief in tears."
"Yes'm, I have to cry, too, and it does me a monstous heap of good. I know it's mighty childish, but I jest can't help it. Jest to think all my white folks is done dead but Miss Mary and Miss Missouri!"
"Our brother left a dear little boy in Texas, and I am going after him next winter. He and his mother are going to live with us, and then we will not be so lonely."
Frances and her children having partaken of a bountiful supper, she resumed, with renewed vigor, her erratic conversation, which consisted, chiefly, of innumerable questions, interspersed with much miraculous information regarding herself since she left her white folks and became a wife, a mother, and a widow.
"Miss Mary, whar's my children going to sleep tonight?"
"With your help I will provide a comfortable place for them, and, also, for you."
And taking a lantern and leading the way to the kitchen, I entered and pointed to a light bedstead, and told her to carry a portion of it at a time to my room, and we would put it up in there.