He's shoh' boun' toe be rich, one o' these yer days.

An' he's a gemman, too, mo'oveh; he's a gemman! Reckon I knows quality! Yas, sir, Cap'n Franklin, she shoh'ly am the bestes' man fer a real lady to choosen--bestes' in all this yer lan'.
Uh-huh!" "I never thought of him--not in that way," said Mary Ellen, not quite able to put an end to this conversation.
"Miss Ma'y Ellen," said Aunt Lucy solemnly, "I'se wukked fer you an' yo' fam'ly all my life, an' I hates to say ary woh'd what ain't fitten.

But I gotto to tell you, you ain' tellin' the _trufe_ to me, toe yo' old black mammy, right now.

I tells you, an' I knows it, tha' hain't nary gal on earth ever done look at _no_ man, I don't care who he wuz, 'thout thinkin' 'bout him, an' 'cidin' in her min', one way er otheh whetheh she like fer to mah'y that ther man er not! If er 'ooman say she do different f'om thet, she shoh'ly fergettin' o' the trufe, thass all! Ain' thought o' him! Go 'long!" Aunt Lucy wiped her hand upon her apron violently in the vehemence of her incredulity.
Mary Ellen's face sobered with a trace of the old melancholy.
"Aunt Lucy," she said, "you mean kindly, I am sure, but you must not talk to me of these things.

Don't you remember the old days back home?
Can you forget Master Henry, Aunt Lucy--can you forget the days--those days-- ?" Aunt Lucy rose and went over to Mary Ellen and took her hand between her own great black ones.