He told her he was glad that he had not been disappointed in her, and thanked her profusely. She was the right kind of a woman. He “always knowed she was’n no shoo-fly, picayune nigger; an’ knowed still better now, since he done had good chance to tes’ her senserra.” (Sincerity.) While the chicken boiled they sat talking of Lizzie and Chester; Aunt Milly’s funeral, which was to take place that day; and many other things of mutual importance—Lethe getting up from time to time to add the necessary vegetables and seasoning to the chicken soup to “give it supshun.” She “stirred up a bowl o’ batter for pan-cakes,” which she fried in bacon grease; and as soon as she finished dripping a pot full of strong coffee, they sat down to eat. It was a veritable feast to Felo, now the old relations were re-established between them; and he hated the thought of leaving. But he was obliged to be on duty when Mr. Amos came home in the evening. He wanted Lethe to go to Aunt Milly’s funeral for a “li’l pleasan’ change o’ mind”; but she said she “felt too ’shame’ to face a big crowd o’ people wid no teeth in her mouth”; that she would stay at home. He told her good-by at the front gate, and started home feeling like he had a “whole nes’ full o’ butterflies turned loose in his stummick.” Lizzie Cole was one of those ignorant, reckless children of Nature, utterly disregardful of the simplest rudiments of anything resembling law or religion; in consequence of which, she was unable to live at home with her God-fearing father and conventional step-mother. For a long time she had lived by herself, in a decrepit-looking two-room hut, far across the pasture in the East Green, away on the other side of the town. The old shanty sat back in the yard, partly hidden from the road by a high, dilapidated picket fence and a hedge of giant cocklebur bushes; with two scraggy persimmon trees on one side by way of ornament. If you happened to pass by on wash day, and saw the cocklebur bushes decorated with innumerable articles of clothing of every imaginable color, you soon learned their usefulness and lost sight of the unnecessary expense of a clothes-line. It also gave you a better understanding of Lizzie’s impatience with anyone who stupidly advised cutting the cocklebur bushes down as worthless weeds and dangerous breeding places for snakes and mosquitoes. From time to time, Chester made “guests visits” to the retired hut; doing the cooking, washing, sewing and other domestic work; while Lizzie walked out selling blackberries and vegetables; or went gallivanting here and there in search of friendly entertainment. To Lizzie’s cheerful way of thinking, there was no form of pleasure more enjoyable than a “good funeral.” The news of anybody’s dying always wakened up her spirits; and she “never missed goin’ to a wake or burrin’ if Gawd lef’ her strank to git there.”