"I'll tend the baby ef he wakes, Miss Sairay; let me lay him down now,"
she said, lifting him with her powerful black hands; "he likes his old
Aunt Hester!" and she nestled him against her broad bosom, and bent her
stately white-turbaned head caressingly over him.
Molly, who was always fascinated by her, watched every movement, her
eyes dancing, and her checks dimpling with some inner thought.
"Come, what are you sparkling over now?" cried Miss Prue, taking the
child's hand to lead her to the dining-room. "I know you've an idea in
that little brain of yours, because it's almost ready to jump out of
your eye-windows!" Molly gave a little hop--she seldom walked--and
caught the aged hand in both of hers. "I'll tell you, Miss Plunkett,
but you musn't tell anybody, will you?"
"I'll try to keep it a secret, Molly."
"Well, what do you s'pose Hester looks like?"
"Now, Molly! You wouldn't make fun of good old Hester, would you?"
"But I'm not making fun, Miss Prue, indeed and indeedy I'm not, only she
_does!_"
"Well, like what, Molly?"
By this time they had reached the dining-room, and Molly drew her behind
its door, to whisper mysteriously,--
"She looks just like Rocky Point when there's a high wind. Then the rock
stands up there black and big and square, just as Hester does; and her
muslin turban is the spray up over the top of it, don't you see?"
Miss Prue nodded comprehensively, for the resemblance of the tall,
straight negress to that bold headland was something she could recognize
herself, now it was brought to her notice.
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