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Ewell, Martha Lewis Beckwith, 1841-1902

"The Harvest of Years"

Clara was delighted with the
"little bud," as she called her.
"Tell me her name," I said.
"Oh! guess it," said Mary.
"Your own?"
"No, no, you can never guess, for we called her Althea, after kind Mrs.
Goodwin, who nursed me so tenderly, and Emily, for another lady we
know"--and she looked at me with her bright eyes, while an arch smile
played over her face. I only kissed the face of the beautiful child, and
Louis said:
"My Emily's name is fit for the daughter of a king. God bless the little
namesake," and Althea Emily gave utterance to a protracted "goo," which
meant, of course, _yes_.
You should have heard her talk, though, when Matthias came over to see
"Miss Molly."
"Come shufflin' over to see you," he said, "an' O my! but aint she jest
as pooty. O"--and at this moment she realized his presence, both her
little hands were stretched forth in welcome, and "ah goo! ah goo!" came
a hundred times from her sweet mouth as she tried to spring out of her
mother's lap.
"Take her, Matthias," I said.
"Wall, wall, she 'pears as ef she know me, Miss Emily--reckon she's got
a mammy down thar."
"She has, indeed," said Mary, "and I know she will miss Mammy Lucy. She
was my nurse, and she cried bitterly when we left, but I do not need
her, Allie is just nothing to care for, and I like to be with her
myself, for I am her mother, you know," she added proudly.
"I mus' know that ole Mammy Lucy, doesn't I, Miss Molly?"
"Certainly you do, Matthias, and she has sent a bandanna turban for your
wife, and a pair of knitted gloves for you.


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