"Pretty nigh twenty!"
"And you haven't bleached a bit," continued Rebecca.
"But I's born dyed-in-the-wool black. Th'ain't nothin' gonter change me but I 'low if 'n you stays in the house a spell, leastways puts on yo' bonnet, you'll git as white as a 'tater sprout in no time. Why don' you let ol' Pearly Gates wuck some button holes in the top er yo' sun-bonnet an' plait yo' hair through the holes? Then, when you gits ter itchin ter snatch off yo' bonnet it'll be a unpossumbility 'thout you take down yo' hair."
Rebecca happily agreed to her old friend's plan. She untied the despised gingham sun-bonnet from about her neck and handed it to Aunt Pearly Gates. She was obliged to wear a sunbonnet but, as a rule, it was worn hanging down her back. She watched curiously while the old negress cut slits in the top of the bonnet and then with deft fingers worked button holes with neat, even stitches. For twenty years Aunt Pearly Gates had been bed-ridden, but in the whole county there was no person, black or white, more industrious than she. She was never idle for a moment. Even in the dark, through long, sleepless nights, the old hands were busy either knitting or tatting.
