"What did you reckon I wanted you to go at all for, Miss Mary?"
"Well, I never thought—and come to think, I don't know. What was it?"
"Why, it's because you ain't one of these leather-face people. I don't want no better book than what your face is. A body can set down and read it off like coarse print. Do you reckon you an go and face your uncles, when they come to kiss you good-morning, and never—"
"There, there, don't! Yes, I'll go before breakfast—I'll be glad to. And leave my sisters with them?"
"Yes—never mind about them. They're got to stand it yet a while. They might suspicion something if all of you was to go. I don't wan't you to see them, or your sisters, nor nobody in this town—if a neighbour was to ask how is your uncles this morning, your face would tell something. No, you go right along, Miss Mary Jane, and I'll fix it with all of them. I'll tell Miss Susan to give your love to your uncles and say you've went away for a few hours for to get a little rest and change, or to see a friend, and you'll be back to-night or early in the morning."
"Gone to see a friend is all right, but I won't have my love given to them."
"Well, then, it shan't be." It was well enough to tell her so—no harm in it. It was only a little thing to do, and no trouble; and it's the little things that smoothes people's roads the most, down here below; it would make Mary Jane comfortable, and it wouldn't cost nothing. Then I says: "There's one more thing—that bag of money."
"Well, they've got that; and it makes me feel pretty silly to think how they got it."
"No, you're out, there. They hain't got it."
"Why, who's got it?"
