She had served him faithfully for many years and he was very fond of her.
"Tuck it in your bosom, aunty--it should have been paid long ago." She looked at him shrewdly: "Did de bank pay ye yit, Marse George ?" No "Den I ain't gwineter tech it--I ain't gwineter tech a fip ob it!" she exploded.

"How I know ye ain't a-sufferin' fer it! See dat wash ?--an' I got anudder room to rent if I'm min' ter scrunch up a leetle mo'.

I kin git 'long." St.George's hand again tightened on her shoulder.
"Take it when you can get it, aunty," he said in a more serious tone, and turning on his heel joined Todd below, leaving the old woman in tears at the top of the stairs, the money on her limp outspread fingers.
All the way back to his home--they had stopped to replenish the larder at the market--St.George kept up his spirits.

Absurd as it was--he a man tottering on the brink of dire poverty--the situation from his stand-point was far from perilous.

He had discharged the one debt that had caused him the most anxiety--the money due the faithful old cook; he had a basketful of good things--among them half a dozen quail and three diamond-back terrapin--the cheapest food in the market--and he had funds left for his immediate wants.
With this feeling of contentment permeating his mind something of the old feeling of independence, with its indifference toward the dollar and what it meant and could bring him, welled up in his heart.