“Bimeby, she say, ‘Aunt Minervy Ann, you ought ter be ’shame or yo’se’f! I know dat man when I see ’im, an’ dat’s all.’ I ’low, ‘Honey, you know mighty well he ain’t come callin’. But he wanter see Marse Tumlin, an’ dey ain’t nothin’ fer ter hender you fum gwine in dar an’ makin’ ’im feel at home while’s he waitin’.’ She sorter study awhile, an’ den she blush up. She say, ‘I dunno whedder I ought ter.’ “Well, suh, dat settled it. I know’d by de way she look an’ talk dat she don’t need no mo’ ’swadin’. I say, ‘All right, honey, do ez you please; but it’s yo’ house; you er de mist’iss; an’ it’ll look mighty funny ef dat young man got ter set in dar by hisse’f an’ look at de wall whiles he waitin’ fer Marse Tumlin. I dunner what he’ll say, kaze I ain’t never hear ’im talk ’bout nobody; but I know mighty well he’ll do a heap er thinkin’.’ “Des like I tell you, suh—she skipped ’roun’ dar, an’ flung on ’er Sunday frock, shuck out ’er curls, an’ sorter fumble’ ’roun’ wid some ribbons, an’ dar she wuz, lookin’ des ez fine ez a fiddle, ef not finer. Den she swep’ inter de parlor, an’, you mayn’t b’lieve it, suh, but she mighty nigh tuck de man’s breff ’way. Mon, she wuz purty, an’ she ain’t do no mo’ like deze eve’y-day gals dan nothin’. When she start ’way fum me, she wuz a gal. By de time she walk up de hall an’ sweep in dat parlor, she wuz a grown ’oman. De blush what she had on at fust stayed wid ’er an’ look like ’twuz er natchual color, an’ her eyes shine, suh, like she had fire in um. I peeped at ’er, suh, fum behime de curtains in de settin’-room, an’ I know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. It’s de Lord’s trufe, suh, ef de men folks could tote derse’f like de wimmen, an’ do one way whiles dey feelin’ annuder way, dey wouldn’t be no livin’ in de worl’. You take a school gal, suh, an’ she kin fool de smartest man what ever trod shoe leather. He may talk wid ’er all day an’ half de night, an’ he never is ter fin’ out what she thinkin’ ’bout. Sometimes de gals fools deyse’f, suh, but dat’s mighty seldom. “I dunner what all dey say, kaze I ain’t been in dar so mighty long ’fo’ I wuz noddin’, but I did hear Marse Paul say he des drapt in fer ’pollygize ’bout a little joke he played on Marse Tumlin. Miss Vallie ax what wuz de joke, an’ he ’low dat Marse Tumlin wuz banterin’ folks fer ter buy his wil’ lan’; an’ Marse Paul ax ’im what he take fer it, an’ Marse Tumlin ’low he’ll take anything what he can chaw, sop, er drink. Dem wuz de words—chaw, sop, er drink. Wid dat, Marse Paul say he’d gi’ ’im a box er terbarker, a bairl er syr’p, an’ a kaig er peach brandy an’ th’ow in his buggy-hoss fer good medjer. Marse Tumlin say ‘done’ an’ dey shuck han’s on it. Dat what Marse Paul tol’ Miss Vallie, an he ’low he des done it fer fun, kaze he done looked inter dat wil’ lan’, an’ he ’low she’s wuff a pile er money. [Illustration: “Marse Tumlin ’low he’ll take anything what he can chaw, sop, er drink.”]