“But dey ain’t put on no airs, suh. Dey des do like de quality all do. ’Tain’t money dat makes de quality; hit’s dat ar kinder breedin’ what’ll make de finest folks stop an’ shake han’s wid a nigger des ez quick ez dey would wid de king er Rooshy—ef dey got any king dar. Long ’fo’ de turmoil, suh, endurin’ er de farmin’ days, ’twuz des dat-a-way. When he ’uz at his richest, Marse Tumlin never did pass a nigger on de road, no matter how lonesome an’ ragged he look, widout stoppin’ an’ axin’ who he b’long ter, an’ what he name, an’ how he gittin’ on. An’ he allers gi’ um sump’n, maybe a piece er terbacker, er maybe a thrip. I know, suh; I done hear my color talk, an’ dey talks it down ter dis ve’y day. Dey ain’t never been a time in dat man’s life when he ain’t think mo’ er somebody else dan what he think er hisse’f. Dat’s what I call de quality, suh. ’Tain’t money; ’tain’t land; ’tain’t fine duds; ’tain’t nothin’ ’tall like dat. I tell you, suh, dem what want ter be de quality is got ter have a long line er big graveyards behime um, an’ dem graveyards is got ter be full er folks what use ter know how ter treat yuther folks. Well, suh, Marse Tumlin is got um behime him, an’ dey retch fum here ter Ferginny an’ furder. An’ on dat account, he ain’t ’shame’ to show nobody dat he love um, an’ he ain’t afear’d ter tell nobody dat he hate um. “I bet you right now, suh, ef you wuz ter ax Miss Vallie ef she ever see ’er pa mad, she’d look at you like she ain’t know what you talkin’ ’bout. Fum de time she has been born, suh, down ter dis ve’y day, she ain’t never hear a cross word come from his mouf. She’s seed ’im frownin’ an’ she’s seed ’im frettin’, but she ain’t never hear no cross word. An’ dat what make I say what I does. ’Tain’t nobody but de quality dat kin show der breedin’ right in der own fambly.” “Why, I’ve heard that the Major has something of a temper,” I remarked. [Illustration: “Marse Tumlin never did pass a nigger on de road.”] “_Temper!_” exclaimed Aunt Minervy Ann, holding up both hands; “temper, I hear you say! Well, suh, dat ain’t no name fer it. I done seed bad men, but Marse Tumlin is de wuss man when he git his dander up dat I yever come ’cross in all my born days. De fust time I seed ’im mad, suh, wuz right atter de folks come home fum der fightin’ and battlin’. It make me open my eyes. I been livin’ wid ’im all dem years, an’ I never is know how servigrous dat man is.