It was with difficulty that Mrs. Harold controlled her risibles, so utterly absurd rather than pathetic was the whole situation, for not one atom of real grief for Joshua lay in poor, shallow Minervy’s heart.  Then Mrs. Harold replied: 

“No, Minervy.  I am not a widow; at least I am only a grass widow, and they do not wear mourning, you know.”

“No’m, no’m, I spec’s not.  But what mus’ I git for masef an’ does po’ orphans!”

“Well, you have a black skirt, but have you a waist and hat?  And you would better buy a black veil; not crape, it is too perishable; get nun’s veiling, and—­”

“Nun’s veilin’?  Nun’s veilin’?” hesitated Minervy.  “But I ain’ no nun, mistiss, I’se a widder.  I ain’ got no kind er use fer dem nunses wha’ don’ never mahry.  I’se been a mahryin’ ’oman, I is.”

“Well you must choose your own veil then,” Mrs. Harold managed to reply.

“Yas’m, I guesses I better, an’ I reckons I better git me a belt an’ some shoes, ‘case if I gotter be oneasy in ma min’ dars no sort o’ reason fer ma bein’ uneasy in ma foots too, ner dem chillern neither.  Dey ain’ never is had shoes all ‘roun’ ter onct, but I reckons dey better he fitted out right fer dey daddy’s funeral.  Dey can’t tend it hut onct in all dey life-times no how.  And ’sides, I done had his life assured ‘gainst dis occasiom, an’ I belongs ter de sassiety wha’ burys folks in style wid regalions.  Dey all wears purple velvet scaffses ober dey shoulders an’ ma’ches side de hearse.  Dar ain’ nothin’ cheap an’ no ‘count bout dat sassiety.  No ma’am!  An’ I reckons I better git right long and look arter it all,” and Minervy, still wiping her eyes, hurried from the room, Mammy’s snort of outrage unheeded, and her words: 

“Now what I done tole yo’, baby?  I tells yo’ dat ‘oman ain’ mo’n ha’f human if she is one ob ma own color. I’S a cullured person, but she’s jist pure nigger, yo’ hyar me?” and Mammy flounced from the room.

Polly and Peggy reentered Mrs. Harold’s room.  She had collapsed upon the divan, almost hysterical, and Polly looked as though someone had dashed cold water in her face.  Peggy was the only one who accepted the situation philosophically.  With a resigned expression she said: 

“That’s Minervy Jones.  She is one type of her race.  Mammy is another.  Now we’ll see what she’ll buy.  I’ll venture to say that every penny she gets from Joshua’s life-insurance will be spent upon clothes for herself and those children.”

“And I started the idea,” deplored Mrs. Harold.

“Oh, no, you did not.  She would have thought of it as soon as she was over her screaming, only you stopped the screaming a little sooner, for which we ought to be grateful to you.  She is only one of many more exactly like her.”

“Do you mean to tell me that there are many as heedless and foolish as she is?” demanded Mrs. Harold.