"My boy had it, too."

"How did it serve him?"

"It killed him. All the good children die. It was a sad stroke to me.

Well, since his death I have been able to dress like a lady."

"Like a lady!" said the other. "How my old mistress used to say that word. I caught the inspiration then. It lingered in my bones a long time before it crept out thus."

Here she surveyed her clothing with satisfaction.

"I see that parched horse-corn and fine dresses go well together," said Rodney's mother, as she helped their empty plates.

"You see we are considerate," said one.

"Yes, and ladylike," said the second.

"Yes, and patched with the blue and the gray," said Rodney's mother.

They looked at their clothes, but saw not the point.

"Mother," said Rodney, lying flat on his back, hugging the cat, and beating his heels upon the floor, "what is fine lace worth a yard?"

"What is it worth, ladies?" said she.

They looked at each other and frowned.

"Rodney has begun, ladies. Be prepared," said his mother.

Here she emptied the last of the corn into her visitors' plates.

"When I washed for Mrs. Rodman a few months ago she had beautiful lace on her pillow slips."

"Yes, she did, mother," said Rodney. Then, turning to the two women: "You ladies work for her now. You cook, and you wash. She and her daughter, General Bradford's wife, have gone to the springs. Did it take all the pillow-slip lace for your sleeves?"

"Don't be too plain, Rodney," said his mother.

"Mother, that's the dress General Bradford gave his wife. You know she told you about it. Mother, mother, what did you mean when you said that the ladies are patched with the blue and the gray?"

"Mrs. Rodman is of the North. General Bradford is of the South. One means the blue, the other the gray."

"If we are wearing things that belong to the blue and the gray, we are not patched," said one, as she arose from the table and put on her hat.

"No," said the other, "we are ladies when we are dressed so."

"That hat!" said Rodney.

The other one put her hat behind her.

"That one, too!" roared Rodney.

"Look after your half-white brat," said they.

"Look after your bare heads when Mrs. Rodman and her daughter return,"

said Rodney's mother.

"Now," said one, "I believe what the fortune-teller said."

"Tell it," said the other.

"I lost some money."

"Yes, you did," said the other.

"I went to the fortune-teller."

"I went with you."

"She pointed out a half-white brat."

"She then pointed out his mother."

"She said we would all meet some day."

"Now we have met."

"What did she say about parched corn?" asked Rodney's mother.

"She said a half-white brat stole the money."

"She said he would die, too," joined in the other.

"That's all plain enough," said Rodney's mother.

"Your boy is dead, and you know about his father."

"Now," said the one with the hat behind her, "I don't blame Uncle Jack for choking your brat."

"Nor Aunt Sally for throwing hot soup on him," said the other.

"Uncle Jack and Aunt Sally," said Rodney's mother, "will be important witnesses when Mrs. Rodman and her daughter return. They know all, and will tell more."

One of the ladies picked up a gla.s.s.

"How's your cat, my son?"

"My cat's nice and good and sweet."

Here both ladies spat into the gla.s.s.