“You grab it!”

Florence stood in silence, motionless; there was a solemnity about her.  The voice exhorted.  “My goodness!” it said.  “She didn’t say she wouldn’t sell it, did she?  You can bring her the money like you said you would, can’t you?  I got mine, didn’t I, almost without any trouble at all!  My Heavens!  Ain’t Kitty Silver pretty near crazy?  Just think of the position we’ve put her into!  I tell you, you got to!”

But now Florence moved.  She moved slowly at first:  then with more decision and rapidity.

* * * * *

That evening’s dusk had deepened into blue night when the two cousins, each with a scant, uneasy dinner eaten, met by appointment in the alley behind their mutual grandfather’s place of residence, and, having climbed the back fence, approached the kitchen.  Suddenly Florence lifted her right hand, and took between thumb and forefinger a lock of hair upon the back of Herbert’s head.

“Well, for Heavenses’ sakes!” he burst out, justifiably protesting.

“Hush!” Florence warned him.  “Kitty Silver’s talkin’ to somebody in there.  It might be Aunt Julia!  C’m’ere!”

She led him to a position beneath an open window of the kitchen.  Here they sat upon the ground, with their backs against the stone foundation of the house, and listened to voices and the clink of dishes being washed.

“She’s got another ole coloured darky woman in there with her,” said Florence.  “It’s a woman belongs to her church and comes to see her ’most every evening.  Listen; she’s telling her about it.  I bet we could get the real truth of it maybe better this way than if we went in and asked her right out.  Anyway, it isn’t eavesdropping if you listen when people are talkin’ about you, yourself.  It’s only wrong when it isn’t any of your own bus—­”

“For Heavenses’ sakes hush up!” her cousin remonstrated.  “Listen!”

“‘No’m, Miss Julia, ma’am,’ I say”—­thus came the voice of Mrs. Silver—­“‘no’m, Miss Julia, ma’am.  Them the same two cats you han’ me, Miss Julia, ma’am,’ I say.  ‘Leas’wise,’ I say, ’them the two same cats whut was in nat closed-up brown basket when I open it up an’ take an’ fix to wash ’em.  Somebody might ‘a’ took an’ change ’em ‘fo’ they got to me,’ I say, ’Miss Julia, ma’am, but all the change happen to ’em sence they been in charge of me, that’s the gray whut come off ’em whiles I washin’ ’em an’ dryin’ ’em in corn meal and flannel.  I dunno how much washin’ ’em change ’em, Miss Julia, ma’am,’ I say, ’’cause how much they change or ain’t change, that’s fer you to say and me not to jedge,’ I say.”

“Lan’ o’ misery!” cried the visitor, chuckling delightedly.  “I wonder how you done kep’ you face, Miss Kitty.  What Miss Julia say?”