“I reckon I hain’t never tol’ you ’bout ole Mas’ an’ young Mas’ fallin’ out, has I? Hit’s all over now, an’ things is done change so dat I reckon eben ef ole Mas’ was libin’, he wouldn’t keer ef I tol’, an’ I knows young Mas’ Tho’nton wouldn’t. Dey ain’t nuffin’ to hide ’bout it nohow, ’ca’se all quality families has de same kin’ o’ ’spectable fusses. “Hit all happened ’long o’ dem Jamiesons whut libed jinin’ places to our people, an’ whut ole Mas’ ain’t spoke to fu’ nigh onto thutty years. Long while ago, when Mas’ Tom Jamieson an’ Mas’ Jack Venable was bofe young mans, dey had a qua’l ’bout de young lady dey bofe was a-cou’tin’, an’ by-an’-by dey had a du’l an’ Mas’ Jamieson shot Mas’ Jack in de shouldah, but Mas’ Jack ma’ied de lady, so dey was eben. Mas’ Jamieson ma’ied too, an’ after so many years dey was bofe wid’ers, but dey ain’t fu’give one another yit. When Mas’ Tho’nton was big enough to run erroun’, ole Mas’ used to try to ’press on him dat a Venable mus’n’ never put his foot on de Jamieson lan’; an’ many a tongue-lashin’ an’ sometimes wuss de han’s on our place got fu’ mixin’ wif de Jamieson servants. But, la! young Mas’ Tho’nton was wuss’n de niggers. Evah time he got a chance he was out an’ gone, over lots an’ fiel’s an’ into de Jamieson ya’d a-playin’ wif little Miss Nellie, whut was Mas’ Tom’s little gal. I never did see two chillun so ’tached to one another. Dey used to wander erroun’, han’ in han’, lak brother an’ sister, an’ dey’d cry lak dey little hea’ts ’u’d brek ef either one of dey pappys seed ’em an’ pa’ted ’em. “I ’member once when de young Mastah was erbout eight year ole, he was a-settin’ at de table one mo’nin’ eatin’ wif his pappy, when all of er sudden he pause an’ say, jes’ ez solerm-lak, ‘When I gits big, I gwine to ma’y Nellie.’ His pappy jump lak he was shot, an’ tu’n right pale, den he say kin’ o’ slow an’ gaspy-lak, ‘Don’t evah let me hyeah you say sich a thing ergin, Tho’nton Venable. Why, boy, I’d raver let evah drap o’ blood outen you, dan to see a Venable cross his blood wif a Jamieson.’ “I was jes’ a-bringin’ in de cakes whut Mastah was pow’ful fon’ of, an’ I could see bofe dey faces. But, la! honey, dat chile didn’t look a bit skeered. He jes’ sot dah lookin’ in his pappy’s face,—he was de spittin’ image of him, all ’cept his eyes, dey was his mother’s,—den he say, ‘Why, Nellie’s nice,’ an’ went on eatin’ a aig. His pappy laid his napkin down an’ got up an’ went erway f’om de table. Mas’ Tho’nton say, ‘Why, father didn’t eat his cakes.’ ‘I reckon yo’ pa ain’t well,’ says I, fu’ I knowed de chile was innercent.