“That’s right,” replied Mrs. Blumenthal; “and when you and the Deacon have another encounter, I hope I shall be near enough to hear it.”

As she walked away, tying up her bouquet with a spear of striped grass, she heard him whistling the tune she had been singing.  When she returned to the parlor, she seated herself near the open window, with a handkerchief, on which she was embroidering Mrs. Delano’s initials.  Mr. Bright’s remarks had somewhat excited her curiosity, and from time to time she glanced toward Deacon Stillham’s grounds.  A hawthorn hedge, neatly clipped, separated the two gardens; but here and there the foliage had died away and left small open spaces.  All at once, a pretty little curly head appeared at one of these leafy lunettes, and an infantile voice called out, “You’re a Bob-o-lith-o-nitht!”

“Do come here, Mamita Lila, and see this little darling,” said Flora, laughing.

For a moment she was invisible.  Then the cherub face came peeping out again; and this time the little mouth was laughing, when it repeated, “You’re a Bob-o-lith-o-nitht.”

“Isn’t it amusing to hear such an infant trying to abuse us with a big mouthful of a word, to which she attaches no meaning?” said Mrs. Delano.

Flora beckoned with her hand, and called out, “Come in and see the Bobolithonithts, darling.”  The little creature laughed and ran away.  At that moment, a bright turban was seen moving along above the bushes.  Then a black face became visible.  Flora sprang up with a quick cry, and rushed out of the room, upsetting her basket, and leaving balls and thimble rolling about the floor.  Placing her foot on a stump, she leaped over the hedge like an opera-dancer, and the next moment she had the negro woman in her arms, exclaiming:  “Bless you, Tulee!  You are alive, after all!”

The black woman was startled and bewildered for an instant; then she held her off at arm’s length, and looked at her with astonishment, saying:  “Bless the Lord!  Is it you, Missy Flory? or is it a sperit?  Well now, is it you, little one?”

“Yes, Tulee; it is I,” she replied.  “The same Missy Flory that used to plague your life out with her tricks.”

The colored woman hugged and kissed, and hugged and kissed, and laughed and cried; ever and anon exclaiming, “Bless the Lord!”

Meanwhile, the playful cherub was peeping at Joe Bright through another hole in the hedge, all unconscious how pretty her little fair face looked in its frame of green leaves, but delighted with her own sauciness, as she repeated, “You’re a Bob-o-lith-o-nitht! you’re a Bob-o-lith-o-nitht!” When he tried to kiss her, she scampered away, but soon reappeared again to renew the fun.

While this by-play was going on, a white servant came through the Deacon’s grounds, and said to Tulee, “Mrs. Robbem wants you to come to her immediately, and bring Laura.”

“I must go now, darling,” said Tulee, clasping Flora’s hand with a warm pressure.