“No, her sister is sick and she is needed where she is. Get your basket and come along--you can do your marketing down there. Bring me my hat and cane. What's the matter with her sister, do you know?” Again the darky hedged: “Dunno, sah--some kin' o' mis'ry in her back I reckon. Las' time Aunt Jemima was yere she say de doctor 'lowed her kittens was 'fected.” (It was another invalid limping past the front steps who had put that in his head.) St. George roared: “Well, whatever she's got, I'm going to pay my respects to her; I've neglected Aunt Jemima too long. No--my best hat--don't forget that I'm going to call on a very distinguished colored lady. Come, out with it. How far does she live from the market?” “Jes' 'bout's far's from yere to de church. Is you gwine now? I got a heap o' cleanin' ter do--dem steps is all gormed up, dey's dat dirty. Maybe we better go when--” “Not another word out of you! I'm going now.” He could feel the money in his pocket and he could not wait. “Get your basket.” Todd led the way and the two crossed the park and struck out for the lower part of the city, near Jones Falls, into a district surrounded by one-and two-story houses inhabited by the poorer class of whites and the more well-to-do free negroes. Here the streets, especially those which ran to the wharves, were narrow and ill-paved, their rough cobbles being often obstructed by idle drays, heavy anchors, and rusting anchor-chains, all on free storage. Up one of these crooked streets, screened from the brick sidewalk by a measly wooden fence, stood a two-story wooden house, its front yard decorated with clothes-lines running criss-cross from thumbs of fence-posts to fingers of shutters--a sort of cat's-cradle along whose meshes Aunt Jemima hung her wet clothes. On this particular day what was left of St. George Temple's wardrobe and bed linen, with the exception of what that gentleman had on his back, was either waving in the cool air of the morning or being clothes-pinned so that it might wave later on. Todd's anxious face was the first to thrust itself from around the corner of a sagging, sloppy sheet. The two had entered the gate in the fence at the same moment, but St. George had been lost in the maze of dripping linen. “Go'way f'om dar, you fool nigger, mussin' up my wash! Keep yo' black haid off'er dem sheets, I tell ye, 'fo' I smack ye! An' ye needn't come down yere a-sassin' me 'bout Marse George's clo'es, 'cause dey ain't done--” (here Temple's head came into view, his face in a broad smile). “Well, fer de lan's sakes, Marse George. What ye come down yere fer? Here--lemme git dat basket outer yo' way--No, dem hands ain't fit fer nobody to shake--My!--but I's mighty glad ter see ye! Don't tell me ye come fer dat wash--I been so pestered wid de weather--nothin' don't dry.” He had dodged a wet sheet and had the old woman by the hand now, her face in a broad grin at sight of him. “No, aunty--I came down to pay you some money.”