On Friday morning, when old Mrs. Ochiltree’s cook Dinah went to wake her mistress, she was confronted with a sight that well-nigh blanched her ebony cheek and caused her eyes almost to start from her head with horror.  As soon as she could command her trembling limbs sufficiently to make them carry her, she rushed out of the house and down the street, bareheaded, covering in an incredibly short time the few blocks that separated Mrs. Ochiltree’s residence from that of her niece.

She hastened around the house, and finding the back door open and the servants stirring, ran into the house and up the stairs with the familiarity of an old servant, not stopping until she reached the door of Mrs. Carteret’s chamber, at which she knocked in great agitation.

Entering in response to Mrs. Carteret’s invitation, she found the lady, dressed in a simple wrapper, superintending the morning toilet of little Dodie, who was a wakeful child, and insisted upon rising with the birds, for whose music he still showed a great fondness, in spite of his narrow escape while listening to the mockingbird.

“What is it, Dinah?” asked Mrs. Carteret, alarmed at the frightened face of her aunt’s old servitor.

“O my Lawd, Mis’ ‘Livy, my Lawd, my Lawd!  My legs is trim’lin’ so dat I can’t ha’dly hol’ my han’s stiddy ’nough ter say w’at I got ter say!  O Lawd have mussy on us po’ sinners!  W’atever is gwine ter happen in dis worl’ er sin an’ sorrer!”

“What in the world is the matter, Dinah?” demanded Mrs. Carteret, whose own excitement had increased with the length of this preamble.  “Has anything happened to Aunt Polly?”

“Somebody done broke in de house las’ night, Mis’ ‘Livy, an’ kill’ Mis’ Polly, an’ lef’ her layin’ dead on de flo’, in her own blood, wid her cedar chis’ broke’ open, an’ eve’thing scattered roun’ de flo’!  O my Lawd, my Lawd, my Lawd, my Lawd!”

Mrs. Carteret was shocked beyond expression.  Perhaps the spectacle of Dinah’s unrestrained terror aided her to retain a greater measure of self-control than she might otherwise have been capable of.  Giving the nurse some directions in regard to the child, she hastily descended the stairs, and seizing a hat and jacket from the rack in the hall, ran immediately with Dinah to the scene of the tragedy.  Before the thought of this violent death all her aunt’s faults faded into insignificance, and only her good qualities were remembered.  She had reared Olivia; she had stood up for the memory of Olivia’s mother when others had seemed to forget what was due to it.  To her niece she had been a second mother, and had never been lacking in affection.