“Well, Jane,” returned the major sadly, when the old nurse had related her grievance, “the old times have vanished, the old ties have been ruptured.  The old relations of dependence and loyal obedience on the part of the colored people, the responsibility of protection and kindness upon that of the whites, have passed away forever.  The young negroes are too self-assertive.  Education is spoiling them, Jane; they have been badly taught.  They are not content with their station in life.  Some time they will overstep the mark.  The white people are patient, but there is a limit to their endurance.”

“Dat’s w’at I tells dese young niggers,” groaned Mammy Jane, with a portentous shake of her turbaned head, “w’en I hears ’em gwine on wid deir foolishniss; but dey don’ min’ me.  Dey ‘lows dey knows mo’ d’n I does, ’ca’se dey be’n l’arnt ter look in a book.  But, pshuh! my ole mist’ess showed me mo’ d’n dem niggers ‘ll l’arn in a thousan’ years!  I ‘s fetch’ my gran’son’ Jerry up ter be ‘umble, an’ keep in ’is place.  An’ I tells dese other niggers dat ef dey’d do de same, an’ not crowd de w’ite folks, dey’d git ernuff ter eat, an’ live out deir days in peace an’ comfo’t.  But dey don’ min’ me—­dey don’ min’ me!”

“If all the colored people were like you and Jerry, Jane,” rejoined the major kindly, “there would never be any trouble.  You have friends upon whom, in time of need, you can rely implicitly for protection and succor.  You served your mistress faithfully before the war; you remained by her when the other negroes were running hither and thither like sheep without a shepherd; and you have transferred your allegiance to my wife and her child.  We think a great deal of you, Jane.”

“Yes, indeed, Mammy Jane,” assented Mrs. Carteret, with sincere affection, glancing with moist eyes from the child in her husband’s arms to the old nurse, whose dark face was glowing with happiness at these expressions of appreciation, “you shall never want so long as we have anything.  We would share our last crust with you.”

“Thank y’, Mis’ ’Livy,” said Jane with reciprocal emotion, “I knows who my frien’s is, an’ I ain’ gwine ter let nothin’ worry me.  But fer de Lawd’s sake, Mars Philip, gimme dat chile, an’ lemme pat ’im on de back, er he’ll choke hisse’f ter death!”

The old nurse had been the first to observe that little Dodie, for some reason, was gasping for breath.  Catching the child from the major’s arms, she patted it on the back, and shook it gently.  After a moment of this treatment, the child ceased to gasp, but still breathed heavily, with a strange, whistling noise.

“Oh, my child!” exclaimed the mother, in great alarm, taking the baby in her own arms, “what can be the matter with him, Mammy Jane?”

“Fer de Lawd’s sake, ma’am, I don’ know, ’less he’s swallered somethin’; an’ he ain’ had nothin’ in his han’s but de rattle Mis’ Polly give ’im.”

Mrs. Carteret caught up the ivory rattle, which hung suspended by a ribbon from the baby’s neck.