Aunt Phillis had early leave to attend a Baptist prayer meeting, consequently the crickets were having a concert in the kitchen, little darkies were romping merrily on the lawn. Ole Mars was visiting Col. Leonard Hollyday and shooting sora and blue-wing duck on Wild Goose Marsh. Miss Henrietta had just tuned her harp and bade the servants be quiet. Presently all was silence, save the drowsy burr of some insect. Her voice was mellifluous, her face pure and noble, and the servants worshipped her as the ancient Jews worshipped Queen Esther. She sang, “There is a green hill far away,” and her beautiful fingers at times touched the strings softly as snowflakes that fall upon the warm cheek of a maiden and melt into tears—as did her voice. Below the porch sat Little Billy an enrapt listener. Just as the song was ended Juba Viney strolled by, and Little Billy said: “Howdy, Juba! Which way you bin?” “Ain’ bin no wha; jes’ gwine.” “Wha you gwine?” “Gwine ter Mage Rudd’s[14] sto’; tells me mus’rat hides is riz—wuf uh levy. I’m gwine ter sell mine.” “Well, wait tell I chain Jasper, den I’ll go wid you.” “What’s de matter wid Jasper, Billy?” “Why, uh coon bit him in de foot lars nite. Nebber wud hab bit him ef’n Jasper hadn’ been ’fused. I smoked de coon outin uh holler, an’ de smoke ’fused de dog.” “I’s glad futto hab you go, Billy, kase I wants yo’ ’sponsibility. I’s gwine ter buy some things at de sto’. I specks ter fill bof dese bags, dat’s full ub mus’rat hides, wid what I buy.” “I wud teck meh mus’rat hides, too, but I sprain meh ankle, back, ahms, risses an’ han’s lars nite clim’in’ uh tree. I ain’ able ter tote nuffin, so I kyant teck meh skins ter nite.” “Tho’t you say you smoke de coon out?” “So I did, but dis wuz uh nubba coon.” “I hope Mage Rudd won’ be shut up; I wan’ ter git sompin nice fuh Susan. She ’bout done promise she gwine ter hab me, Billy; wud uh merried me long ’go, ’ceppin’ fuh dat yaller niggah dat dribes fuh Mrs. Rodgers. She nebba bin in lub wid Jerry; hit’s only when Mrs. Rodgers cum ter see Miss Henrietta, an’ he got on glubs dat’s got fuz on ’em, uh ban’ ’roun’ he hat; bras’ buttons on he coat, white-top boots on, an’ uh sorter pine burr on de side ub he hat, an’ al’ays hab he pocket full ub can’y dat’s got vusses in ’em. Billy, don’ you say nuffin boutin hit, but I’m gwine ter hab meh pockets made bigga, an’ gwine ter hab one pocket full ub dat can’y all de time. What you s’pose dat can’y got in it? Hit almos’ cunjah Susan.