"She's de ve'y fu'st one I'se gwine tell, lest I git mah brains better sot on dis heah fracas!" He gave a low chuckle, adding: "Lor', chile, Miss Liz ain' gwine know nuthin'. Ole Zack kin keep mum an' fool de smartes' of 'em! Didn' I fetch Marse John's djeulin' pistols one Sunday mawnin' right under de Bible layin' on de cushion we cyarried to chu'ch fer ole Miss to kneel on? An' didn' we-all walk plumb up de aisle, an' fix her nice an' easy in her pew, an' den slip out an' go down on de crick whar de gemmens wuz waitin', an' shoot dat young Mister Green in de lung? 'Deed we did," he chuckled again, scratching his head as though the reminiscence were ticklesome--then looked up with a sly smile: "Whilst we wuz a-drivin' home dat day, ole Miss she say: 'You wuz late, son,' she say; an' I heah him say: 'Yes mam, a gemmen sont word he'd lak to see me,' he say. Den ole Miss ax: 'Did you find 'im, son?' 'Yes mam,' Marse John say, 'I foun' 'im, all right.' Ole Miss pat de back of his han', croonin' in dat soft voice of her'n: 'You'se a great comfo't, an' always so 'siderate of others!' At dat, I jest bust plumb out a-laughin', but turned it to sich a wicked-soundin' chokin' spell dat dey's 'bleeged to lean over an' beat mah back; an' while Marse John wuz a-puttin' on de licks, an' mighty nigh killin' me, he whisper: 'You black rascal, ef you don' behave I'll shoot you nex' Sunday!' Oh, dem wuz days what wuz days, Marse Bob; dey wuz fer a fac'! Ain' you-all gwine fight no one dis mawnin'?" "You bloodthirsty old villain," Bob laughed. "Don't you know that gentlemen now go to law in adjusting their differences?" Uncle Zack stood a moment looking at the rifle, apparently in retrospective reverie. Finally he observed: "I spec dat's right. Dey may 'just dey diff'ences wid deyse'ves dat-a-way, but dey sholy make 'em 'parrent to de neighbors. In de ole days, a gemmen say to a gemmen: 'Yoh fence is too fur on mah line, sah!' An' de gemmen answer back: ''Tain' no sich a-thing, sah!' So dey frien's come by in de mawnin', an' has a julep, an' slips out de back way; an' dat evenin' de neighbors is all sayin': 'Too bad! Bofe sich fine gemmen!' Nowdays," he concluded, "dey go to cou't wid dey diff'ences, an' when it's all over de neighbors say: 'My! Who'd ever thought dem men wuz sich skallawags!' De cou'ts may be all right in dey way, Marse Bob, but dey suttenly do strip a man of his se'f respec'."