Autumn came and he did not find his quarter as happy as formerly. As a consequence, he spent a great deal of his time at the mansion. Even the solemn and sour old maiden housekeeper, Miss Betsy, whose apron strings were strung with keys and who for forty years had lived at Fairlands, was indulgent, and welcomed him. One day I came upon him cleaning her bird cage and singing over and over: “Tell me a dream, M-a-r-y, Tell me a dream; My Lawd, de King ub Manuel.” I said, “Why don’t those canaries lay?” “Miss Betsy say dey bof boys,” was his reply. The cook liked him, and he liked her more than he did Cassey. He often toted for her baskets of chips to make the fire burn brightly, put on the big back logs, and turned the turkey in the tin kitchen. Twice a week on winter nights he was sent for to beat the hominy in the big mortar. When he grew weary of the iron pestle, and wanted to chaff some servant, he would say, “I sut’ny does lub ter beat dis hominy—a—heh—heh—heh,” and then we boys would “spell” him and he would praise our industry until we nearly collapsed from fatigue. “O, call back yesterday; bid time return.” He had a local reputation for his original sayings and deserved it. For example: “You kyant eat uh hoecake but once;” “All moufs mus’ eat, but all moufs kyant eat gravel;” “Ev’y man’s mouf ain’ uh prayer book;” “Uh case orntried is hyard ter justify;” etc., but from being chaffed by the young men at the “Royal Oak” and St. Michaels, towns near by, where he sold his crabs and fish, and bought fishhooks and tobacco, had become somewhat shy and reticent. One cold and windy day in December I started for Wild Goose Marsh, famous as snipe ground, with the view of burning the same. So to fully enjoy Ezra’s confidence and to get him to talk freely, I put a half-dollar in his hand, invited him to stop shucking oysters and go with me to the marsh and assist in burning the same. His young Marster’s pointers, “Rob Roy” and “Rose,” whom he had adopted and who had adopted him, were lying in his boat. He expatiated a few moments upon the “quaresomeness ub snipe an’ jack-uh-ma-lanterns,” and then got in my carriage. Meantime I was taking in his raiment. He said, “I’m not dress up, kase I’m shuckin’ oysters.” He wore an old dressing gown some one had given him in the long ago. It must have had twenty patches from the size of a blacking box up to a tin plate. His vest, from patches, was of many colors; it was fastened with seven buttons, and no two of them alike. One foot was shod, and the other wrapped in an old piece of carpet. “Meh cawns hu’t me so,” he said. He was smaller and more bent than ever, and extremely interesting. A drink of applejack and a good lunch, the brilliancy of the burning marsh and my interest in him made him very loquacious. With apparent earnestness I said, “Uncle Ezra, how long have you lived on this estate?”