There was to be a break-down in the Quarters, to celebrate the breaking of some new ground on the river-side, that had been deadened some two years before, and, in accordance with Ole Marse’s custom, the laborers were permitted to invite the negroes upon the adjoining plantation. It was to be a great event, and Juno was preparing for the same with great interest, for even flesh and age could not bare as neat a pair of heels as hers for certain intricate shuffles, when, all of a sudden, Solon declared his intention of not attending. Such a thing had not been known to happen in the whole course of Solon’s existence. For two days before the break-down he claimed that he was sick, and took all of Juno’s nauseous concoctions without a murmur. Then he besought Juno not to go to the dance. It was devil trickery, he said, and it was very hard on him, as he was trying to keep his religion that he had gotten so painfully, and the devil would be sure to follow her home. He proposed that Juno should remain quietly in the cabin as usual on the night of the break-down, as an example to the weaker “professors,” while he thought it might do him good to pay a dutiful visit to his old “daddy” across the river—for Old Marse owned on both sides. But though Juno physicked her spouse faithfully, she rebelled against such imposition. “Um! Ober de ribber you gwine? I lay you’ daddy hain’t gwine lay eyes on yo’ fur dis day two weeks. Gittin’ mighty anxious ’bout you’ daddy all uv er suddent! I’se gwine ter de bre’k-down. I hain’t pestered wid _you_’ ’ligion. Hain’t nuffin de matter wid Juno’s head ner her heels, sho’ mun!” But Juno’s heart was not as light as she made it appear, for she had fretted through a whole winter and a late spring, and after a restless night she again invoked the aid of Maum Ysbel. “I hain’t got nuffin ter pay yo’ wid, Maumer, but I’se dat miserbul I hatter come,” said Juno with a sigh. The hag ceased stirring the contents of the little pot, and setting it off on the hearth to cool, she drew her wrinkled face into many more wrinkles, and took an inventory of Juno from head to foot. “Yas, yo’ is, honey—yas, yo’ is!” and as she grinned, her solitary tooth was visible in her glee. “De coat yo’ got on am powerful ole an’ fady, an’ dat ap’un hain’t no ’count; yo’ gotter wash hit mighty easy fur ter w’ar hit one mo’ time; but yo’ got you’ moon year-bobs!” Juno winced, for those big brass ear-rings were the pride of her heart; twice her lobes had been pulled through with the weight of them, but there was always room for another piercing. The old woman leered and nodded. “Yo’ got you’ moon year-bobs, an’ my Becky’s Sairey been cryin’ uv her eyes out fur ’em ebber sence she seed ’em!” “But, Maumer—” expostulated Juno.