She shortly heard Minerva’s pref
acing giggle and commen
tary:
“We don’ min’ Miss Patsy’s fuss’-
ness, does we, ‘Admiral’?”
This was the last straw. Minerva
was told she could take her hat and
go. She left smilingly, but when she
calmly turned up the next morning,
remarking carelessly, “I know’d you
couldn’t git ’long widout me, when
you’s sick, so heah I is, an’ heah I’se
gwine stay tell you gits well,” Miss
Bratton had to confess she was glad.
When Minerva had been in her ser
vice for two months, Miss Patsy found
it necessary to hunt her domestic’s
abode one Sunday afternoon, in order
to tell her to come at five the next
morning, Billy having suddenly de
cided to start off on a camping trip
at an early hour.
She wended her way through the
3effersonlan
Sy Hanna Rion.
assortment of dilapidated shanties
back of the railroad shops, inquiring
along the way for Minerva White’s
house. A little unpainted cabin was
finally pointed out. In reply to her
knock a small voice cried out:
“Who dar?”
Miss Bratton declared herself.
“Wull, ma’s gone off ter a baptiz
in’ an’ I’se lock ’n de house.”
“Who is your mother?” Miss Brat
ton inquired.
“ ’Nerva’s muh mar, ma’am.”
Miss Bratton could scarcely believe
her ears; her surprise remained una
bated until her maid’s arrival the next
morning, when an explanation was re
quested.
