“Well, suh, dey wuz mo’ in Marse Jesse dan I had any idee. He wuz a rank talker, sho’. I see ’er face warmin’ up, an’ I say, ‘Miss Sadie, I ’speck I better be gwine.’ Marse Jesse say, ‘You ain’t in my way, Aunt Minervy Ann; I done foun’ my sweetheart, an’ I ain’t gwine ter lose ’er no mo’, you kin des bet on dat.’ She ain’t say nothin’ an’ I know’d purty well dat eve’ything wuz all skew vee.” “I hope they married,” remarked the lady of the house, after waiting a moment for Aunt Minervy Ann to resume. There was just a shade of suspicion in her tone. “Oh, dey married, all right ’nuff,” said Aunt Minervy Ann, laughing. “Didn’t it create a good deal of talk?” the lady asked, suspicion still in her voice. “Talk? No, ma’m! De man what dey git de license fum wuz Miss Fanny’s br’er, Gus Featherstone, an’ de man what married um wuz Marse Gabe’s bro’er, John Towers. Dey wa’n’t nobody ter do no talkin’. De nex’ mornin’ me an Miss Sadie an’ Marse Jesse got in de carriage an’ drove out ter John Towers’s place whar he runnin’ a church, an’ ’twuz all done an’ over wid mos’ quick ez a nigger kin swaller a dram.” “What do you think of it?” I asked the lady of the house. “Why, it is almost like a story in a book.” “Does dey put dat kinder doin’s in books?” asked Aunt Minervy Ann, with some solicitude. “Certainly,” replied the lady. “Wid all de turmile, an’ trouble, an’ tribulation—an’ all de worry an’ aggervation? Well, Hamp wanted me ter l’arn how ter read, but I thank my stars dat I can’t read no books. Dey’s ’nuff er all dat right whar we live at widout huntin’ it up in books.” After this just observation, it was time to put out the lights. III HOW AUNT MINERVY ANN RAN AWAY AND RAN BACK AGAIN In the matter of attending the fair at Halcyondale, Aunt Minervy Ann’s hospitable wishes jumped with my own desires, and it was not difficult to give her a hard and fast promise in the matter; nor did it take the edge off my desires to entertain a suspicion, verified long afterward, that Aunt Minervy Ann’s anxiety was based on a hope, expressed by Major Perdue, that the fair would be properly handled in the Atlanta papers. The directors of the fair were represented at the little railway station, at Halcyondale, by a committee, and into the hands of this committee fell every man, woman, and child that stepped from the passing trains. It mattered little what the business of these incoming travellers was; whether they came to visit the fair or to attend to their own private affairs. They were seized, bag and baggage, by the committee and borne triumphantly to the hotel, or to a boarding-place, or to some private house. The members of the committee had a duty to perform, and they performed it with an energy and a thoroughness that was amazing if not altogether satisfactory. As I remember, this vigorous body was called the Committee on Public Comfort, and most heroically did it live up to its name and its duties.