“An’ sho’ ’nuff, suh, dat nigger man had a roll er money—mos’ twenty dollars. Some hoss drovers had come ’long an’ Hamp made dat money by trimmin’ up de ol’ mules dey had an’ makin’ um look young. He’s got de art er dat, suh, an’ dey paid ’im well. Dar wuz de money, but how wuz I gwine ter git it in Miss Vallie’s han’? I kin buy vittles an’ she not know whar dey come fum, but when it come ter buyin’ frocks—well, suh, hit stumped me. Dey wan’t but one way ter do it, an’ I done it. I make like I wuz mad. I tuck de money an’ went in de house dar whar Miss Vallie wuz sewin’ an’ mendin’. I went stompin’ in, I did, an’ when I got in I started my tune. “I ’low, ‘Ef de Perdues gwine ter go scandalizin’ deyse’f by trottin’ down town in broad daylight wid all kinder frocks on der back, I’m gwine ’way fum here; an’ I dun’ner but what I’ll go anyhow. ’Tain’t bekaze dey’s any lack er money, fer here de money right here.’ Wid dat I slammed it down on de table. ‘Dar! take dat an’ git you a frock dat’ll make you look like sump’n when you git outside er dis house. An’ whiles you er gittin’, git sump’n for ter put on yo’ head!’” [Illustration: Trimmin’ Up de Ol’ Mules.] Whether it was by reason of a certain dramatic faculty inherent in her race that she was able to summon emotions at will, or whether it was mere unconscious reproduction, I am not prepared to say. But certain it is that, in voice and gesture, in tone and attitude, and in a certain passionate earnestness of expression, Aunt Minervy Ann built up the whole scene before my eyes with such power that I seemed to have been present when it occurred. I felt as if she had conveyed me bodily into the room to become a witness of the episode. She went on, still with a frown on her face and a certain violence of tone and manner: “I whipped ’roun’ de room a time er two, pickin’ up de cheers an’ slammin’ um down ag’in, an’ knockin’ things ’roun’ like I wuz mad. Miss Vallie put her sewin’ down an’ lay her han’ on de money. She ’low, ‘What’s dis, Aunt Minervy Ann?’ I say, ‘Hit’s money, dat what ’tis—nothin’ but nasty, stinkin’ money! I wish dey wan’t none in de worl’ less’n I had a bairlful.’ She sorter fumble at de money wid ’er fingers. You dunno, suh, how white an’ purty an’ weak her han’ look ter me dat night. She ’low, ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, I can’t take dis.’ I blaze’ out at ’er, ‘You don’t haf’ter take it; you done got it! An’ ef you don’t keep it, I’ll rake up eve’y rag an’ scrap I got an’ leave dis place. Now, you des’ try me!’” Again Aunt Minervy Ann summoned to her aid the passion of a moment that had passed away, and again I had the queer experience of seeming to witness the whole scene. She continued: