We reached the house after awhile, and I lost no time in stretching myself out on a lounge that sat invitingly in the hall behind the stairway. It was not the coolest place in the world; but, really, when one is fagged out, it is unnecessary to try to find all the comforts of life in one spot. Sleep fell on me unawares, and when I awoke, Aunt Minervy Ann was sitting near the head of the lounge fanning me. Such courtesy was surprising, as well as pleasing, but I chid her for taking so much trouble, for I had slept nearly two hours. But she made light of it, saying she had nothing else to do, the baby being in his cradle and sleeping like a log. [Illustration: “Dat ar grape jelly on de right han’ side.”] Then, to enjoy a smoke, I drew a rocking-chair into the back porch, and proceeded to fill my pipe with what I regarded as a very good brand of tobacco, offering some to Aunt Minervy Ann. She soon found her pipe—clay bowl and reed stem—cleaned it out carefully and filled it from my pouch. “It look mighty pale, suh,” she remarked. “I ’speck dey steam it ’fo’ dey mash it up.” She seated herself on the top step, lit her pipe, took a few whiffs, and then shook her head. “’Tain’t nigh rank ’nuff for me, suh. Hit tas’e like you er dreamin’ ’bout smokin’ an’ know all de time ’tain’t nothin’ but a dream.” She knocked the tobacco out, and then refilled the pipe with the crumbs and cutting from the end of a plug. This she smoked with an air of supreme satisfaction. “I ’speck you got de idee dat I better be seein’ ’bout supper, stidder settin’ up here lookin’ biggity. But ’tain’t no use, suh. Marse Tumlin and Miss Vallie never is ter come home dis day less’n dey bring Marse Paul wid um. I done hear um sesso. An’ I know mighty well, deyer gwine ter come back late, bekaze Paul Conant’s one er dem kinder folks what go twel dey can’t go, an’ when dey git down dey make motions like dey gwine. Dey puts me in mind uv a lizard’s tail, suh. Knock it off, an’ it’ll hop ’bout an’ work an’ wiggle plum twel de sun go down.” I suggested that the illustration was somewhat inapt (though not in those words), for the reason that Paul Conant’s energy was not expended blindly. But I found that Aunt Minervy knew what she was saying. “I ain’t talkin’ ’bout his own business, suh, bekaze dey ain’t nobody beat ’im at dat. No, suh; I’m talkin’ ’bout dem ar doin’s out dar at de fair groun’s. He’s a-workin’ at dat lots harder dan he has ter work fer hisse’f. Maybe you tuck notice uv de way dem yuther folks done out dar, suh. Dey stood ’round wid dey mouf open, an’ de ribbon pinned on der coats, an’ when sump’n had ter be done, dey’d call out fer Conant. It ’uz ‘Conant!’ here an’ ‘Conant!’ dar, an’ ef Conant wuz out er hearin’ de whole shebang had ter stop right still an’ wait twel Conant kin be dragged up. I watched um p’intedly, suh, an’ it’s des like I tell you.”