She'd had six children sold from her afore, and she set
stores by her and me, 'cause we was girls, and we was all she
had left, too. Tidy was pooty as a flower; and dat's just
what your fadder, Massa Carroll, sold her for. My poor mudder--
how she cried and took on! but then she grew more settled like.
She said she'd gi'n her up for de good Lord to take care on.
She said, if he could take care of de posies in de woods, he certain
sure would look after her, and so she left off groaning like;
but she's never got over that sad look in her face. 'Oh,' says she
to me, says she, 'Annie, do call dat leetle cretur's name Tidy,--
mebbe 'twill make my poor, sore heart heal up;' and so I will."
"So I would, Annie; yes, so I would," said the Master soothingly.
"So I would, if 'twill be any comfort to poor old Marcia,--clever old
soul she is. She was my mammy, and I was always fond of her. She has
trotted me on her knee, and toted me about on her back, many an hour.
I must go down to the quarters this very day, and see if she has
things comfortable. She's getting old, and we must do well by her
in her old age. And you, Annie, you mustn't mind those other things.
We mustn't borrow trouble. And we can't help it, you know;
and we mustn't cry and fret for what we can't help.
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