The foregoing recital is unquestionably a long and tame preface to the statement that, after thinking the matter over I concluded to accept the official invitation to the fair—“The Middle Georgia Exposition” it was called—if nothing occurred to prevent. With this conclusion I dismissed the matter from my mind for the time being, and would probably have thought of it no more until the moment arrived to make a final decision, if the matter had not been called somewhat sharply to my attention. Sitting on the veranda one day, ruminating over other people’s troubles, I heard an unfamiliar voice calling, “You-all got any bitin’ dogs here?” The voice failed to match the serenity of the suburban scene. Its tone was pitched a trifle too high for the surroundings. But before I could make any reply the gate was flung open, and the new-comer, who was no other than Aunt Minervy Ann, flirted in and began to climb the terraces. My recognition of her was not immediate, partly because it had been long since I saw her and partly because she wore her Sunday toggery, in which, following the oriental tastes of her race, the reds and yellows were emphasized with startling effect. She began to talk by the time she was half-way between the house and gate, and it was owing to this special and particular volubility that I was able to recognize her. “Huh!” she exclaimed, “hit’s des like clim’in’ up sta’rs. Folks what live here bleeze ter b’long ter de Sons er Tempunce.” There was a relish about this reference to the difficulties of three terraces that at once identified Aunt Minervy Ann. More than that, one of the most conspicuous features of the country town where she lived was a large brick building, covering half a block, across the top of which stretched a sign—“Temperance Hall”—in letters that could be read half a mile away. Aunt Minervy Ann received a greeting that seemed to please her, whereupon she explained that an excursion had come to Atlanta from her town, and she had seized the opportunity to pay me a visit. “I tol’ um,” said she, “dat dey could stay up in town dar an’ hang ’roun’ de kyar-shed ef dey wanter, but here’s what wuz gwine ter come out an’ see whar you live at, an’ fin’ out fer Marse Tumlin ef you comin’ down ter de fa’r.” She was informed that, though she was welcome, she would get small pleasure from her visit. The cook had failed to make her appearance, and the lady of the house was at that moment in the kitchen and in a very fretful state of mind, not because she had to cook, but because she had about reached the point where she could place no dependence in the sisterhood of colored cooks. “Is she in de kitchen now?” Aunt Minervy’s tone was a curious mixture of amusement and indignation. “I started not ter come, but I had a call, I sho’ did; sump’n tol’ me dat you mought need me out here.” With that, she went into the house, slamming the screen-door after her, and untying her bonnet as she went.