“I would ’a’ waited, suh, but dey kep’ callin’ fer cakes so ravenous dat bimeby I crumpled my shinplasters up in a wad an’ tuck my basket an’ went polin’ home fer ter hurry Hamp up. He wuz des gittin’ ready ter start when I got dar. I gi’ Miss Vallie de money—you kin count it up yourse’f, suh; ’twuz fer fo’ dozen ginger-cakes at a thrip a-piece—an’ tol’ her ter sen’ Hamp atter some mo’ flour an’ ’lasses ’fo’ night, ’kaze de ginger-cakes half-gone an’ court-week ain’t skacely open up. Hamp, he tuck de pies an’ de cakes, an’ I got me one er de low cheers out’n de kitchen, ’kaze I done tired er settin’ on de een’ uv a box. “I ’speck you know right whar I sot at, suh; ’twuz dar by dat big chany-tree front er Sanford’s sto’. Hit sho’ wuz a mighty tree. De win’ done blow’d up an’ blew’d it down, but de stump stan’in’ dar sproutin’ right now. Well, suh, right under de shadder er dat tree, on de outer aidge er de sidewalk, I tuck my stan’, an’ I ain’t been dar long ’fo’ de folks ’gun ter swarm atter my cakes, an’ den when dey seed my pies—well! hit look like dey fair dribble at de mouf. “I sol’ um all ’cep’ one, an’ ef I’d ’a’ sol’ dat un, I don’t ’speck dey’d ’a’ been any trouble; but you know what a fool a nigger kin be, suh, speshually a nigger ’oman. I tuck a notion in my min’ dat I done so pow’ful well, I’d save dat pie fer Marse Tumlin an’ Miss Vallie. So ev’y time somebody’s come ’long an’ want ter buy de pie, I’d up an’ say it done sold. “Bimeby, who should come ’long but dat ar Salem Birch! He dead now, but I ’speck you done hear talk un ’im, bekaze he made matters mighty hot in deze parts twel—twel—well, suh, twel he ’gun ter hone atter dat pie, ez you may say.” Aunt Minervy Ann paused and rubbed her hands together, as if reflecting. Then she shook her head and laughed somewhat doubtfully. [Illustration: “I gi’ Miss Vallie de money.”] “What dey want ter name ’im Salem fer, I’ll never tell you. Hit’s a Bible name, an’ mo’ dan dat, hit’s a church name. You know it yo’se’f, suh, bekaze dey’s a Salem church not mo’n sev’m mile fum whar we settin’ at right now. _Salem_ Birch! Hit bangs my time how some folks kin go on—an’ I ain’t nothin’ but a nigger. Dey’s mo’ chillun ruint by der names, suh, dan any udder way. I done notice it. Name one un um a Bible name, an’ look like he bleedze ter go wrong. Name one un um atter some high an’ mighty man, an’ dey grows up wid des ’bout much sense ez a gate-post. I done watch um, suh. “I ’speck dis yer Salem Birch would ’a’ been a right good man but fer dat ar Bible name. Dat ruint ’im. I don’t b’lieve dey’s a man in de worl’ what kin walk straight under dat name less’n he done been called fer ter be a preacher, an’ Salem Birch ain’t had no sech call up ter dat time. Dat much I know.