His attention was arrested one day about a week after his return by the peculiar actions of Mammy Peggy.  She hung around him, and watched him, following him from place to place like a spaniel.

Finally he broke into a laugh and said, “Why, what’s the matter, Aunt Peggy, are you afraid I’m going to run away?”

“No, I ain’ afeared o’ dat,” said mammy, meekly, “but I been had somepn’ to say to you dis long w’ile.”

“Well, go ahead, I’m listening.”

Mammy gulped and went on.  “Ask huh ag’in,” she said, “it were my fault she tol’ you no.  I ‘minded huh o’ huh fambly pride an’ tol’ huh to hol’ you off less’n you’d t’ink she wan’ed to jump at you.”

Bartley was on his feet in a minute.

“What does this mean,” he cried.  “Is it true, didn’t I offend her?”

“No, you didn’ ‘fend huh.  She’s been pinin’ fu’ you, ’twell she’s growed right peekid.”

“Sh, auntie, do you mean to tell me that Mim—­Miss Harrison cares for me?”

“You go an’ ax huh ag’in.”

Bartley needed no second invitation.  He flew to the cottage.  Mima’s heart gave a great throb when she saw him coming up the walk, and she tried to harden herself against him.  But her lips would twitch, and her voice would tremble as she said, “How do you do, Mr. Northcope?”

He looked keenly into her eyes.

“Have I been mistaken, Mima,” he said, “in believing that I greatly offended you by asking you to be my wife?  Do you—­can you care for me, darling?”

The words stuck in her throat, and he went on, “I thought you were angry with me because I had taken advantage of your kindness to my father, or presumed upon any kindness that you may have felt for me out of respect to your brother’s memory.  Believe me, I was innocent of any such intention.”

“Oh, it wasn’t—­it wasn’t that!” she gasped.

“Then won’t you give me a different answer,” he said, taking her hand.

“I can’t, I can’t,” she cried.

“Why, Mima?” he asked.

“Because—­”

“Because of the Harrison pride?”

“Bartley!”

“Your Mammy Peggy has confessed all to me.”

“Mammy Peggy!”

“Yes.”

She tried hard to stiffen herself.  “Then it is all out of the question,” she began.

“Don’t let any little folly or pride stand between us,” he broke in, drawing her to him.

She gave up the struggle, and her head dropped upon his shoulder for a moment.  Then she lifted her eyes, shining with tears to his face, and said, “Bartley, it wasn’t my pride, it was Mammy Peggy’s.”

He cut off further remarks.

When he was gone, and mammy came in after a while, Mima ran to her crying,

“Oh, mammy, mammy, you bad, stupid, dear old goose!” and she buried her head in the old woman’s lap.

“Oomph,” grunted mammy, “I said de right kin’ o’ pride allus pays.  But de wrong kin’—­oomph, well, you’d bettah look out!”