But there were events taking place in which the student of diplomacy might have found food for research and reflection. Such an event was the taffy-pulling which Sister Williams’ daughters, Dora and Caroline, gave to the younger members of the congregation on Thursday evening. Such were the frequent incursions of Sister Williams herself upon the domains of the neighbours, with generous offerings of “a taste o’ my ketchup” or “a sample o’ my jelly.” She did not stop with rewarding her own allies, but went farther, gift-bearing, even into the camp of the enemy himself. It was on Friday morning that she called on Sister Sneedon. She found the door ajar and pushed it open, saying, “You see, Sis’ Sneedon, I’s jes’ walkin’ right in.” “Oh, it’s you, Sis’ Williams; dat’s right, come in. I was jes’ settin’ hyeah sawtin’ my cyahpet rags, de mof do seem to pestah ’em so. Tek dis cheer”—industriously dusting one with her apron. “How you be’n sence I seen you las’?” “Oh, jes’ sawt o’ so.” “How’s Do’ an’ Ca’line?” “Oh, Ca’line’s peart enough, but Do’s feelin’ kind o’ peekid.” “Don’t you reckon she grow too fas’?” “’Spec’ dat’s about hit; dat gal do sutny seem to run up lak a weed.” “It don’t nevah do ’em no good to grow so fas’, hit seem to tek away all deir strengf.” “Yes, ’m, it sholy do; gals ain’t whut dey used to be in yo’ an’ my day, nohow.” “Lawd, no; dey’s ez puny ez white folks now.” “Well, dem sholy is lovely cyahpet rags—put’ nigh all wool, ain’t dey?” “Yes, ma’am, dey is wool, evah speck an’ stitch; dey ain’t a bit o’ cotton among ’em. I ain’t lak some folks; I don’t b’lieve in mixin’ my rags evah-which-way. Den when you gits ’em wove have de cyahpet wah in holes, ’cause some’ll stan’ a good deal o’ strain an’ some won’t; yes, ’m, dese is evah one wool.” “An’ you sholy have be’n mighty indust’ous in gittin’ ’em togethah.” “I’s wo’ked ha’d an’ done my level bes’, dat’s sho.” “Dat’s de mos’ any of us kin do. But I mustn’t be settin’ hyeah talkin’ all day an’ keepin’ you f’om yo’ wo’k. Why, la! I’d mos’ nigh fu’got what I come fu’—I jes’ brung you ovah a tas’e o’ my late greens. I knows how you laks greens, so I thought mebbe you’d enjoy dese.” “Why, sho enough; now ain’t dat good o’ you, Sis’ Williams? Dey’s right wa’m, too, an’ tu’nip tops—bless me! Why, dese mus’ be de ve’y las’ greens o’ de season.” “Well, I reely don’t think you’ll fin’ none much latah. De fros’ had done teched dese, but I kin’ o’ kivered ’em up wif leaves ontwell dey growed up wuf cuttin’.” “Well, I knows I sholy shell relish dem.” Mrs. Sneedon beamed as she emptied the dish and insisted upon washing it for her visitor to take home with her. “Fu’,” she said, by way of humour, “I’s a mighty po’ han’ to retu’n nice dishes when I gits ’em in my cu’boa’d once.” Sister Williams rose to go. “Well, you’ll be out to chu’ch Sunday to hyeah Broth’ ’Lias Smith; he’s a powahful man, sho.”