“Come on hyuh, ole mule,” he called, taking up the reins from the harrow and giving the mule a light slap. “You gotta make quick tracks, an’ lemme git thoo dese las’ few rows. ’Cause I wan’ hurry yonder an’ take Tempe out de han’s o’ dem searchin’ niggers, befo’ night come.... Git up hyuh, now. An’ lemme see you move like you un’stan w’at you doin’; an’ got yo’ min’ on w’at Nat talkin’ ’bout.... You hyeah me?” Carmelite had finished another patch-work master-piece,—a “Jacob ladder” pattern of many-colored gingham and calico scraps; and being in need of money, she was giving a “raffle meetin’” at her house. She said she was sure to “take up five dollars ’munks all de members w’at say dey was comin’.” Because cold weather was not very far off; and people never could have too many quilts. And ten cents a chance was so little, she knew none of the members would overlook the inducement. Besides, everybody was bound to have a good time at Carmelite’s raffle, “singin’ an’ jokin’ an’ drinkin’ coffee an’ eatin’ cake.” And rich cake, at that. The same kind Carmelite made for the white folks’ table. Duck eggs always made a cake taste better, she declared with authority. They gave it such a fine yellow color; and kept it from looking like “cheap grocery-sto’ cake.” And Carmelite enjoyed hearing her friends talk about it; and liked to hear them “give ’uh de praise for ’uh cookin’.” Nobody’s duck eggs were like Aunt Fisky’s. They were always so big and fresh. And Carmelite knew that she could get as many as she needed, in exchange for anything she had to offer. Aunt Fisky was too old to bend over and beat brick to sprinkle on her floor; and Gussie was so busy running around with the women, he never had time to stop and sit down and pound it for her. So a bucket full of brick dust was always a desirable article of barter. A bundle of fat pine splinters for lighting the fire was another thing to be desired; scarce as fat pine was most of the time. And a pan of Carmelite’s hot cornbread, almost as good as the cake she made, was a thing Aunt Fisky would accept gladly, in exchange for a half dozen duck eggs. Having finished nearly all the preparations for the evening raffle, Carmelite wrapped a newspaper around a pan of hot cornbread just out of the oven, and started away, after the duck eggs for the cake she was going to make for her guests. She would hurry back, she told herself; and the cake would have time to get cool after she finished baking, and it would “cut nice” for the frolic. Half way across the green she met Aunt Fisky, driving home her ducks from the pool of water near her house. It was a wide stretch of ground in the open green, where the earth had been dug away during high water time, and carried off and banked against a weak spot in the levee. Being near the river, the pool was always filled with water and crawfish; and it became a favorite resort of the ducks, geese and colored children of the neighborhood.