Waking to Consciousness

"Nice Mas'r Hugh--pretty Mas'r Hugh!" and Mug's little black hand was
laid caressingly on the face she admired so much. "I mean to ask God
about him, just like I see Miss Alice do," she continued, and stealing
to the opposite side of the room, Muggins kneeled down, and with her
face turned toward Hugh, she said: "If God is hearin' me, will He please
do all dat Miss Alice ax him 'bout curin' Mas'r Hugh."

This was too much for Hugh. The sight of that ignorant negro child,
kneeling by the window unmanned him entirely, and hiding his head
beneath the sheets, he sobbed aloud. With a nervous start, Mug arose
from her knees, and stood for an instant gazing in terror at the
trembling of the bedclothes.

"I'll bet he's in a fit. I mean to screech for Miss Alice," and Muggins
was about darting away, when Hugh's long arm caught and held her fast.
"Oh, de gracious, Mas'r Hugh," she cried, "you skeers me so. Does you
know me, Mas'r Hugh?" and she took a step toward him.

"Yes, I know you, and I want to talk a little. Where am I, Mug? What
room, I mean?"

"Why, Miss Alice's, in course. She 'sisted, and 'sisted, till 'em brung
you in here, 'case she say it cool and nice. Oh, Miss Alice so fine."

"In Miss Johnson's room," and Hugh looked perfectly bewildered. In the
room he had taken so much pains to have in order; it could not be; and
he passed his hand up and down the comfortable mattress, striking it
once with his fist, to see if it would sink in, and then, in a perplexed
whisper, he asked: "This is her room, you say; but, Mug, where are the
two feather beds?"