Sandy opened his eyes.

A tall old negro woman bent over him, her head tied up in a turban, and a shawl about her shoulders.
"Did you git runned over ?" she asked, peering down at him anxiously.
Sandy tried to explain, but it was all the old mixture of soap and microscopes and never being able to speak to her.

He knew he was talking at random, but he could not say the things he thought.
"Where'd you come from, boy ?" "Curragh Chase, Limerick," murmured Sandy.
"'Fore de Lawd, he's done been cunjered!" cried the old woman, aghast.
"I'll git it outen of you, chile.

You jus' come home wif yer Aunt Melvy; she'll take keer of you.

Put yer arm on my shoulder; dat's right.