Carmelite laid the pan of cornbread on the table and sat down, looking about the room slowly. She was impressed with the clean, orderly poverty of its furnishing. Save for an old table and two chairs, the place was almost bare. Some iron pots on the hearth gave evidence that all the cooking was done in the open fireplace, on the level with the floor, and greatly in need of repairs. Aunt Fisky drew a chair from the corner by the chimney and sat down. Carmelite looked at her without speaking, thinking of her tired old body and the weary expression on her kindly wrinkled old face. Her guinea-blue dress was patched in many places, but was clean and carefully ironed. Her head-handkerchief, once a bright piece of yellow-and-brown plaid gingham, now old and faded, was tied with care; the two tabs in front drooping over like a tired butterfly resting after a long flight. “Daughter, I’m sho glad to set down,” Aunt Fisky sighed, after a brief silence. “I’m so played-out till I got de swimmin’ in de head.” “Aun’ Fisky, yo’ stummic mus’ be ain’ workin’ right,” Carmelite advised her again. “W’at make you don’ take a couple o’ dem pumma-crissul off de bush you got yonder, an’ eat ’um; an’ see if dey don’ help you? Dey sho is good w’en somh’n be wrong wid yo’ intwuds.” (Inwards.) “Daughter, I know de things is good,” Aunt Fisky answered; fully mindful of Carmelite’s well-meant interest. “But I’m des natchally ’fraid to meddle wid ’um,” she continued. “Ever since ole Unc’ Jo Mingo died from eatin’ pumma-crissul seeds off de bush in ’is yard.... I don’ trus’ ’um. So I don’ wan’ tamper wid ’um.” “But, Aun’ Fisky, ain’t you b’lieve greed’ness had a whole lot to do wid Unc’ Jo Mingo death?” Carmelite asked her. “It look to me like pumma-crissul kilt ’im ’cause he ain’ use no jedgment ’bout eatin’ ’um,” she went on. “Ain’ sattafy eating two or three seeds, w’en somebody tol’ ’im dey was good for certain sickness; had to keep on eatin’ ’um, aft’ he done found out he like de way dey tas’e; till he done et a _whole han’-full_.... ’Tain no wonder Unc’ Jo Mingo died. Wid all dat castor oil surgin’ up an’ down ’is body.” But Aunt Fisky’s judgment was going to be her protection. She knew that palma Christi seeds were good medicine. She had heard the white folks talk about it, she told Carmelite. But she was afraid to meddle with them, and would rather use some remedy she knew better. Okra seed tea was just as good; and she would try a dose of that, if old Uncle Bendigo’s ointment didn’t bring relief after a few days more. Carmelite advised her to be careful about what she ate; and seized the occasion to call her attention to the pan of corn-bread. Aunt Fisky got up and unwrapped the present; thanked Carmelite for her thoughtfulness, and asked her if she needed any eggs. Carmelite told her about the raffle she was giving; and said she wanted to bake a cake, and would take a half dozen duck eggs, if Aunt Fisky could spare them.