“Why do you want to make such a feast?” Mr. Amos asked in surprise. “After you finish all the house-cleaning you say you mean to do, you better rest yourself; if you hope to do any singing at a wake tonight.... Fix the yams, if you care to. But get something else easy to cook.” “Man, go ’head to yo’ office, for Gawd sake,” Felo told him; provoked at having his show of hospitality received with such marked indifference. “’Tain no use try’n to sattafy some people, w’en dey ain’ never learnt how to ’preshate li’l favors did for ’um wid a free heart.... Go ’head to yo’ office.... An’ you better be glad if you come back hyuh an’ fin’ coffee an’ bread to eat, w’en you git home dis evenin’.” Left to himself, after he had done his marketing in the neighborhood, it was not long until Felo’s domestic maneuvering was in full swing. Any casual passer-by would have supposed the house was in process of evacuation. Festoons of bed-clothes and barricades of pillows protruded negligently from upstairs windows; scarves and cushions and draperies of many colors flaunted in reckless abandon from down-stairs windows; rugs hung over the side fence, and blankets flapped on the back-yard clothes-line. Everything was brought out to bask in the welcome sunshine and to gather freshness from the pleasant flowing breeze. Filled with abundant energy and the unflagging desire to please, Felo was determined to overlook no single detail about the house. Work don’t never hurt nobody if they goes at it with the right sperret, he told himself.... He sho was goin’ to try his best to keep people from thinkin’ his boss was runnin’ a li’l ole picayune boa’din’-house.... This house was a rezzident; and he sho was goin’ keep it lookin’ so.... And Mr. Amos never need feel ’shamed to have any comp’ny try to ’zamine his toys and things, and all them “heavy-heavy-hangs-ove’-yo’-head” he had on the wall; after Felo got done playin’ with ’um.... When he came home in the evening, Mr. Amos was struck by the orderly appearance of everything. The rugs were fresh-looking and arranged with care; the floors and the furniture were rubbed and polished; bright flowers were on the piano and tables; and the whole house looked cheerful and inviting. As he walked back to the diningroom he heard the pleasant sound of Felo’s voice, singing at his work in the kitchen. “Death he is a cruel monster in dis lan’; You kin call but he won’t answer, ain’t it gran’?” The words didn’t carry a very cheerful greeting; but the melody was a lovely one; thought Mr. Amos, as he stood listening, waiting until Felo would finish the verse. “I kin leave at break of day, You will find but empty clay,— Lawd, I wonder w’at they’ll say W’en I’m gone...?” “What a strange allurement death and wakes and funerals seem to hold out to him; when at heart he is really of a happy disposition,” Mr. Amos commented, as Felo ended his song and changed to a soft murmuring hum.