8 P.M.
`` All right , '' said the Sergeant , when we brought her in . `` Yes , I know the old woman ; the gal will be ready for her when she comes , but I guess I 'd better send one of my men along with 'em both far as the depot . Ai n't no use takin ' no chances . '' The dear old woman followed us again until we found a clerk in a branch ticket-office , who picked out a long green slip from a library of tickets , punched it with the greatest care with a pair of steel nippers , and slipped it into an official envelope labelled : `` K.C. Pineyville , Ky. 8 P.M. '' With this tightly grasped in her wrinkled brown hand , together with another package of Marny 's many times in excess of the stage fare of thirty-six miles and which she slipped into her capacious bosom , Aunt Chloe `` made her manners '' with the slightest dip of a courtesy and left us with the remark : `` Sha 'n' t nothin ' tech her , honey ; gwinter stick right close to her till de steam-cars git to movin ' , I 'll be over early in de mawnin ' an ' let ye know . Doan ' worry , honey ; ai n't nothin ' gwinter happen to her arter I gits my han 's on her . '' When I came down to breakfast , Aunt Chloe was waiting for me in the hall . She looked like the old woman in the fairy-tale in her short black dress that came to her shoe-tops , snow-white apron and headkerchief , covered by a close-fitting nun-like hood -- only the edge of the handkerchief showed -- making her seem the old black saint that she was .