The large middle room, the parlor, was elaborate. The rosewood sofa, upholstered in threadbare green silk, was before the fireplace. Marble-topped tables, two Singer sewing maes, a big vase of pampas grass -- everything was rid grand. The most important piece of furniture in the parlor was a big, glassed-doored et in which was kept a number of treasures and iss Amelia had added two objects to this colle -- one was a large a from a water oak, the other a little velvet box holding two small, grayish stones. Sometimes when she had nothing much to do, Miss Amelia would take out this velvet box and stand by the window with the stones in the palm of her hand, looking down at them with a mixture of fasation, dubious respect, and fear. They were the kidones of Miss Amelia herself, and had been taken from her by the doctor in Cheehaw some years ago. It bad been a terrible experience, from the first mio the last, and all she had got out of it were those two little stones; she was bound to set great store by them, or else admit to a mighty sorry bargain. So she kept them and in the sed year of Cousin Lymons stay with her she had them set as ors in a watch which she gave to him. The other object she had added to the colle, the large a, recious to her -- but when she looked at it her face was always saddened and perplexed.
"Amelia, what does it signify?" Cousin Lymon asked her.
"Why, its just an a," she answered. "Just an a I picked up oernoon Big Papa died."
"How do you mean?" Cousin Lymon insisted.
"I mean its just an a I spied on the ground that day. I picked it up and put it in my pocket. But I dont know why."
"What a peculiar reason to keep it," Cousin Lymon said.
The talks of Miss Amelia and Cousin Lymon in the rooms upstairs, usually in the first few hours of the m when the hunchback could not sleep, were many. As a rule, Miss Amelia was a silent woman, not lettiongue run wild on any subject that happeo pop into her head. There were certain topics of versation, however, in which she took pleasure. All these subjects had one point in on -- they were interminable. She liked to plate problems which could be worked over for decades and still remain insoluble. Cousin Lymon, oher hand, ealking on any subject whatsoever, as he was a great chatterer. Their approach to any versation was altogether different. Miss Amelia always kept to the broad, rambling generalities of the matter, going on endlessly in a low, thoughtful void getting nowhere -- while Cousin Lymon would interrupt her suddenly to pick up, magpie fashion, some detail which, even if unimportant, was at least crete and bearing on some practical facet close at hand. Some of the favorite subjeiss Amelia were: the stars, the reason why Negroes are black, the best treatment for cer, and so forth. Her father was also an interminable subject which was dear to her.
"Why, Law," she would say to Lymon. "Those days I slept. Id go to bed just as the lamp was turned on and sleep -- why, Id sleep like I was drowned in warm axle grease. Then e daybreak Big Papa would walk in and put his hand down on my shoulder. "Get stirring, Little," he would say. Then later he would holler up the stairs from the kit wheove was hot "Fried grits," he would holler. "White meat and gravy. Ham and eggs." And Id run dowairs and dress by the hot stove while he was out washing at the pump. Then off wed go to the still or maybe --"
"The grits we had this m oor," Cousin Lymo