“Why, Aunt Mabel, have you no fire?” said May, going close to her, and laying her hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, Miss May!  Lord bless you, honey!  You come in like a sperrit.  No, indeed, honey; I ain’t had none to speak on these two days.”

“And your feet are almost frozen,” said May, with a pitying glance.

“They’s mighty cold, misses; but sit down, and let me look at you; it will warm me up,” said the old woman, trying to smile.

“Let me put these on your poor old feet first,” said May, kneeling down, and drawing off the tattered shoes from her feet, while she chafed them briskly with her hands; then slipped the soft warm stockings and slippers on them, ere the old creature could fully comprehend her object; then opening the shawl, she folded it about the bowed and shivering form.  With a blended expression of gratitude and amazement, old Mabel looked at her feet, then at the shawl, then at May, who stood off enjoying it, and finally covered her face with her hand, and wept outright.

“Now, indeed, Aunt Mabel, this is not right; why, I thought you’d be pleased,” said May, lifting up her paralyzed hand, which lay helplessly on her knees, and smoothing it gently between her own.

“Pleased, honey!  I am so full I’m chokin’, I b’lieve.  What you do all this for Miss May?  I’m only a poor old nigger; I got no friends; I can never do nuffin for you.  What you do it for?” she sobbed.

“Just because you are poor, because you are friendless, because you are old and black, Aunt Mabel.  And more than that, I shall be well paid for my pains.  Oho, you don’t know every thing,” said May, cheerfully.

“I used to hear buckra parson read out of the Book, when I was down in the plantation, that whomsoever give to the poor lend it to the Lord; is that it, honey?” she asked, wiping the tears from the furrows of her swarthy cheeks.

“That is just it, my dear old aunty, so you have found out how selfish I am, after all.  You are the creature of God as well as I; in His sight your soul is as precious as mine.  We are truly brethren in our eternal interests.  Then you are very old and helpless, which makes me pity you.  Now, let me have some wood in here, and make you a fire—­a regular, rousing fire.”

“Maybe so—­maybe so,” said old Mabel, thoughtfully; “but, look here, Miss May, what that you say ’bout wood, eh?  You gwine out to cut some of the trees down in Howard’s Park, I reckon?” she said, laughing and chuckling, highly diverted at the idea.

“No, ma’am, for there is a load of good wood at your door, which is now being sawed for your benefit.”

“Did you do that too, Miss May?”

“Never mind who did it,” said May, who ran out and gathered up a few small pieces of wood, which she hurried in with, and soon kindled a bright blaze on the hearth:  after which, she requested the sawyer to bring in two large logs to lay behind.