Peter was her proxy. It was she who had fallen.
The only person in Niggertown who continued amiable to Peter Siner was Cissie Dildine. The octoroon, perhaps, had other criteria by which to judge a man than his success or mishaps dealing with a pettifogger.
Two or three days after the catastrophe, Cissie made an excursion to the Siner cabin with a plate of cookies. Cissie was careful to place her visit on exactly a normal footing. She brought her little cakes in the role of one who saw no evil, spoke no evil, and heard no evil. But somehow Cissie's visit increased the old woman's wrath. She remained obstinately in the kitchen, and made remarks not only audible, but arresting, through the thin partition that separated it from the poor living-room.
Cissie was hardly inside when a voice stated that it hated to see a gal running after a man, trying to bait him with a lot of fum-diddles.
Cissie gave Peter a single wide-eyed glance, and then attempted to ignore the bodiless comment.
“Here are some cookies, Mr. Siner,” began the girl, rather nervously. “I thought you and Ahnt Carolin'—”
“Yeah, I 'magine dey's fuh me!” jeered the spectral voice.
“Might like them,” concluded the girl, with a little gasp.
“I suttinly don' want no light-fingered hussy ma'yin'
