Natalie Sumner Lincoln

“ He had followed the testimony of each witness with undivided attention, answering only in monosyllables the muttered remarks made to him occasionally by Ben Potter, whose expression of boredom had given place to more lively interest at sight of Oscar on his way to the witness chair.
“Who am Miss Kitty?” asked Oscar in scandalized surprise. “Why, Miss Baird’s niece. They live together, leastwise they did ’till yesterday. Poor ole Miss, she didn’t mean no harm—”
“No harm to whom?” questioned Penfield swiftly. ”

“ Penfield spoke with sternness. “Remember, you are under oath to tell only the truth. When did you last see Miss Susan Baird alive?”
Oscar blinked at the abruptness of the question. “Sunday mawning, Sah, when I was servin’ dinner at one o’clock.”
“Did she appear to be in good spirits?” asked Penfield. “In good health—” he added, noting Oscar’s mystified expression.
“Yessah. She ate real hearty, and when I went in de lib’ry after dinner, she was jes’ as peaceful an’ ca’m, a-sittin’ in that great easy chair o’ hers as if she never had had no words with Miss Kitty.” ”

“ We lives in our own house, two blocks away.”
“What were your working hours?”
“Hey?” Oscar stroked his wooly head reflectively. “’Most all day,” he volunteered finally. “Mandy had one o’ her spells yesterday mawnin’ an’ I had ter get a doctah fo’ her, an’ that’s why I never reached Miss Baird’s ’til ’bout noon.”
“I see.” Penfield sat back in his chair and fumbled with his watch charm. Oscar as a witness was a disappointment, whatever his accomplishments as an all-round servant. “At what hour did you leave Miss Baird’s on Sunday?” ”