“W’at you is, if you ain’ a strumpet?” Felo asked with vehemence. “I ain’ hesitate to call you a _double_ strumpet; reckless as you is;—on-cuncernin’ of you bein’ a preacher daughter, an’ plenny ole enough to know better.” Foreseeing an altercation, Susan interposed. “Look!” She called to Lizzie. “Ain’t you say you an’ Chester was goin’ to church yonder to Gritny?” Lizzie looked at Susan without replying. Going over to her, Susan took her by the arm, saying: “If you _is_ goin’, den y’all two better start befo’ it git too late.” Then turning to Felo, she said: “Felo, go yonder in de side yard an’ fetch me a pitcher o’ cistun water.” As Felo left the room, Lizzie muttered: “Good thing I ain’ let my tongue cut loose an’ say evvything my min’ tol’ me to say to dat ole rusty w’ite-folks nigger.... It mus’ bin Gawd tol’ you sen’ him out de room. Sis’ Susan.” Shaking her head and smiling pleasantly, Susan said: “An’ Gawd expec’in you to go ’way from hyuh befo’ Felo git back. So don’ was’e time talkin’, but go ’long ... Chester, yonder yo’ hat. Take Lizzie wid you to de New Hope church an’ see ’f you can’ make her pray. Go ’long, now, bofe of you; an’ no hard feelin’s.” Fully aware of Susan’s positive character, and feeling convinced that further argument was useless, Lizzie made ready to leave with silent magnanimity. She walked over to the fireplace proudly, saying with a haughty air: “Chester, pay Miss Smiley de change comin’ to her, till I put on my shoes.” Chester settled the account, and they walked towards the front door. “Good-night to y’all fellow-Chrishtuns,” Lizzie said with spurious geniality. “An’ much oblige’ for yo’ manners an’ behavior.” Just as she finished her lofty farewell, Felo came in from the back room. “Da’s right, Lizzie”; he said to her, “don’ go ’way from hyuh wid yo’ feelin’s upset ’bout somh’n was said to you. Good-night to you; an’ Gawd go wid you.” “Go to Hell!” She told him; pushing Chester through the open door and slamming it after her. The road which Lizzie and Chester had to take from Susan’s cook shop down to church in the village, was a lonely, desolate stretch of about two miles. The few homes along the river front were poor, depleted reminders of old plantation days, few and far between, and setting far back from the road. If one took the railroad track running parallel with the high levee, unless the moon was shining, there was no other light to show the way but the clear glimmer of the stars; provided there was no mist in the sky or dripping fog creeping along the land. If one took the path on the top of the levee, the reflection from the electric lights on the New Orleans’ side of the river helped to point out the puddles and uneven places, and the vagrant cows that selected the grassy prominence for their somnolent ruminating.