“’Long ’bout dat time she struck up wid little Sally Blasengame, an’ when dem two got tergedder dar wuz de pick er de town ez fer ez de chillun went. I don’t say it, suh, bekaze Marse Bolivar was Marse Tumlin’s br’er-in-law—dey married sisters—but his little gal Sally wuz ez fine ez split silk. Mary Ellen had black hair an’ big black eyes, an’ Sally had yaller hair an’ big blue eyes. Atter dey come ter know one an’er dey wa’n’t a day but what dem two chillun wuz playin’ tergedder. How many an’ many is de times I seed um gwine ’long wid der arms ’roun’ one an’er! “Well, one day atter dey been playin’ tergedder a right smart whet Marse Bolivar ’gun ter make inquirements ’bout Mary Ellen, an’ when he foun’ out who an’ what she wuz, he went out whar dey at an’ tol’ her she better go home. I wuz right dar in de back yard when he said de word. Mary Ellen stood an’ looked at ’im, an’ den she picked up her bonnet an’ marched out’n de yard holdin’ her head up; she wuz twelve year ol’ by den. “Sally seed Mary Ellen go out, an’ she turn ’roun’ on her daddy, her face ez white ez a sheet. Den her whole frame ’gun ter shake. She ’low, ‘I been lovin’ you all dis time, an’ I didn’t know you could be so mean an’ low-life.’ She flung at ’im de fust words dat pop in her min’. “Marse Bolivar say, ‘Why, honey! Why, precious!’ an’ start ter put his arm ’roun’ ’er. She flung fum ’im, she did, an’ cry out, ‘Don’t you never say dem words ter me no mo’ ez long ez you live, an’ don’t you never tetch me no mo’.’ Den she seed me, an’ she come runnin’ des like she wuz skeer’d. She holler, ‘Take me ’way! take me ’way! Don’t let ’im tetch me!’ Talk ’bout temper—talk ’bout venom! All dem Blasengames had it, an’ when you hurt de feelin’s er dat kind er folks dey are hurted sho ’nuff. Marse Bolivar couldn’t ’a’ looked no wuss ef somebody had ’a’ spit in his face while his han’s tied. You talk ’bout people lovin’ der chillun, but you dunner nothin’ ’tall ’bout it twel you see Marse Bolivar lovin’ Sally. Why, de very groun’ she walkt on wuz diffunt ter him fum any udder groun’. He wuz ready ter die fer ’er forty times a day, an’ yit here she wuz wid her feelin’s hurt so bad dat she won’t let ’im put his han’s on ’er. An’ he ain’t try; he had sense ’nuff fer dat. He des walk ’roun’ and kick up de gravel wid de heel er his boots. But Sally, she had ’er face hid in my frock, an’ she ain’t so much ez look at ’im. Bimeby he went in de house, but he ain’t stay dar long. He come out an’ look at Sally, an’ try ter make ’er talk, but she erfuse ter say a word, an’ atter while he went on up-town.