Juniper looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I’se allus been proud ob de way she done washin’, suh,” he said; “she sho do mek money dat away, an’ I ain’t gwine ter complain ob noffin but de way she behaved ’bout Miss Eaton’s silver teapot, dat Miss Jinny done gib me fo’ a birthday present.” “Silver teapot?” Caleb Trench looked questioningly at the judge. “Juniper had a birthday,” Judge Hollis explained grimly, “and Aunt Charity gave him a birthday party. I reckon we all sent Juniper something, but Jinny Eaton gave him a silver-plated teapot, and there have been squalls ever since. Who’s got that teapot now, Juniper?” “She hab,” said Juniper indignantly. “I locked dat teapot in my trunk, Judge, an’ I done tole her dat she couldn’t hab it when I died bekase she’d gib it ter dat mean trash son ob hers, Lysander, an’ when I wus out she done got a locksmith ter gib her a key ter fit dat trunk, an’ she got dat teapot, an’ she’s gwine ter gib tea ter Deacon Plato Eaton, an’ he hab er wife already, not sayin’ noffin ’bout concubines. I ain’t gwine ter hab him drinkin’ no tea outen dat silver teapot dat Miss Jinny done gib me. I’se gwine ter git divorcement an’ I wants dat teapot.” “Why don’t you settle it with Uncle Plato?” asked the judge. “Assault and battery is cheaper than divorce.” Juniper rubbed the back of his head thoughtfully. “De fact ez, Jedge,” he said, “I ain’t sho dat I’se gwine ter whip him.” “Juniper,” said the judge, “you tell Uncle Plato from me that if he drinks tea out of that teapot you’ll sue him for ten thousand dollars damages for alienating your wife’s affections.” Juniper looked at him admiringly. “I sho will, Jedge,” he said. “Alyanatying her ’fections! I sho will! Dat sounds mos’ ez bad ez settin’ fire ter de cou’t-house. I ’low Plato ain’t gwine ter cotch et ef he kin help it. I sho ez grateful ter yo’ all, Jedge.” The judge swung his revolving chair around to his desk. “Very good,” he said grimly; “you can go now, Juniper.” The old man turned and shuffled back to the door; as he opened it he bowed again. “Alyanatying her ’fections! I ’low I ain’t gwine ter fergit dat. Evenin’, gentermen,” and he closed the door. The judge looked across at Caleb. “That’s one of the Eaton faction,” he remarked grimly. “Yarnall has to contend with that kind of cattle. Juniper’s sold, body and soul, to the Eatons, and that old fool, Jinny Eaton, gave him a silver-plated teapot for his birthday. You might as well give a nigger a diamond sunburst or a tame bear. He and his wife have been at swords’ points ever since, but as sure as the first Tuesday in November comes, that whole black horde will vote the Eaton ticket.” Caleb Trench regarded the judge thoughtfully. “You’d like to disfranchise the negro,” he remarked. Hollis grunted. “You’re a black Republican,” he said bitingly.