Griffith had grown so used to these talks and to those of a less kindly tone that he had stopped arguing the matter at all, and, indeed, there seemed little he could say beyond the fact, that it was a matter of conscience with him. His wife's father had berated him soundly, and her sisters plainly stated that, in their opinion, "poor Brother Grif was insane." They pitied their sister Katherine from the bottom of their hearts, and thanked God devoutly that their respective husbands were not similarly afflicted. And, as may be readily understood, it was all a sore trial for Katherine. At last, when the manumission papers came, Katherine sent LeRoy, her second son, to tell the negroes to come to the "big house." Roy ran, laughing and calling, to the negro quarters. "Oh, John, Pete, Sallie, Uncle Milt everybody I Father says for _all_ of you--every single one--to come to the big house right after supper! Every single one! He's got something for you. Something he is going to make you a present of! I can't tell you what--only every one will have it--and you must come right away after supper!" "G'way fum heah, chile! What he gwine t' gib _me?_ New yaller dress?" inquired Lippy Jane, whereupon there arose a great outcry from the rest, mingled with laughter and gibes. "I know wat he gwine t' gib Lippy Jane! He gwine t' gib'er a swing t' hang onter dat lip, yah! yah! yah!" remarked Pete, and dodged the blow that his victim leveled at him. "New dress! Lawsy, chile, I reckon he be mo' likely ter gib you a lickin' along 'er dat platter you done bus' widout tellin' Mis' Kate!" put in Sallie, whose secure place in the affections of the mistress rendered her a severe critic of manners and morals in the "quarters." "Come heah, Mos' Roy, honey, an' tell ole Une' Milt wat'e gwine t' git. Wat dat is wat Mos' Grif gwine t' gib me? Some mo' 'er dat dar town terbacker? Laws a massy, honey, dat dar las' plug what he fotch me nebber las' no time ertal." But Roy was tickling the ear of old Phillis with a feather he had picked up from the grass, and the old woman was nodding and slapping at the side of her head and humoring the boy in the delusion that she thought her tormentor was a fly. Roy's delight was unbounded. "G'way fum heah, fly! Shoo! G'way fum heah! I lay dat I mash you flat' fo' a nudder minnit! Sho-o-o!"