But reporter number three had imagination. "The dearest old soul I've
seen in a blue moon," said he.

Aunt Basha proceeded down the street and more than one in the crowd
glanced twice at the erect, stout figure swinging, like a quaint and
stately ship in full sail, among the steam-tuggery of up-to-date
humanity. There were high steps leading to the bank entrance, impressive
and alarming to Aunt Basha. She paused to take breath for this
adventure. Was a humble old colored woman permitted to walk freely in at
those grand doors, open iron-work and enormous of size? She did not
know. She stood a moment, suddenly frightened and helpless, not daring
to go on, looking about for a friendly face. And behold! there it
was--the friendliest face in the world, it seemed to the lost old
soul--a vision of loveliness. It was the face of a beautiful young white
lady in beautiful clothes who had stepped from a huge limousine. She was
coming up the steps, straight to Aunt Basha. She saw the old woman, saw
her anxious hesitation, and halted. The next event was a heavenly smile.
Aunt Basha knew the repartee to that, and the smile that shone in answer
was as heavenly in its way as the girl's.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" spoke a voice of gentleness.

And the world had turned over and come up right side on top. "Mawnin',
Miss. Yas'm, I was fixin' to go in dat big do' yander, but I dunno as
I'm 'lowed. Is I 'lowed, young miss, to go in dar an' gib my two hun'erd
to Unc' Sam?"

"What?" The tone was kindness itself, but bewildered.

Aunt Basha elucidated. "I got two hun'erd, young miss, and I cert'nly