Aunt Minervy Ann was on her feet. Her right arm was raised high in the air, and her eyes blazed with passion. It was not a glimpse of temper she gave us, but a fleeting portrayal of mother-love at white heat. She had been carried away by her memory, and had carried us away with her; but she caught herself, as it were, in the act, laughed, and sat down again by the sofa, caressing it with both arms. Presently she resumed her narrative, addressing herself this time to the lady of the house. It was a stroke of rare tact that had its effect. “Wellum, Mary Ellen wa’n’t my chile, an’ ol’ Fed Tatum sont ’er off up dar ’mongst de Northrons; an’ ’bout de time de two sides ’gun der battlin’ he sol’ some lan’ an’ sont her ’nuff money ter las’ ’er twel she got all de larnin’ she want. Den de war come, an’ nobody ain’t hear no mo’ ’bout Mary Ellen. Dey fit an’ dey fout, an’ dey fout an’ dey fit, an’ den, bimeby, dey quit, an’ fer long days nobody didn’t know whedder ter walk backerds er go forruds. “Ol’ Fed Tatum wuz one er dem kinder folks, ma’am, what you been seein’ an’ knowin’ so long dat you kinder git de idee dey er gwine ter stay des like dey is; but one day ol’ Fed Tatum fetch’d a grunt an’ went ter bed, an’ de nex’ day he fetch’d a groan an’ died. He sho did. An’ den when dey come ter look into what he had, dey foun’ dat he ain’t got nothin’ he kin call his own but a little cabin in one een’ er town, an’ dis went ter Mary Ellen’s mammy. “I tell you now, ma’am, dat ’oman tried me. She wuz long an’ lank an’ slabsided, an’ she went ’bout wid ’er mouf shet, an’ ’er cloze lookin’ like somebody had flung um at ’er. I like ter hear folks talk, myself, an’ ef dey can’t do nothin’ else I like ter see um show dey temper. But dat ’oman, she des walk ’roun’ an’ not open her mouf fum mornin’ twel night, less’n you ax ’er sump’n. I tried ter git her ter talk ’bout Mary Ellen, but she ain’t know no mo’ ’bout Mary Ellen dan a rabbit. “I dunner but what we’d ’a’ got in a fuss, ma’am, kaze dat ’oman sho did try me, but ’long ’bout dat time Marse Bolivar’s gal tuck sick, an’ ’twa’n’t long ’fo’ she died. ’Twuz a mighty pity, too, kaze dat chile would ’a’ made a fine ’oman—none better. ’Long todes de las’ she got ter gwine on ’bout Mary Ellen. Look like she could see Mary Ellen in de fever-dreams, an’ she’d laugh an’ go on des like she useter when she wuz a little bit er gal. “Wellum, when dat chile died Marse Bolivar come mighty nigh losin’ ’is min’. He ain’t make no fuss ’bout it, but he des fell back on hisse’f an’ walk de flo’ night atter night, an’ moan an’ groan when he think nobody ain’t lis’nin’. An’ den, atter so long a time, here come a letter fum Mary Ellen, an’ dat broke ’im all up. I tell you right now, ma’am, Marse Bolivar had a hard fight wid trouble. I don’t keer what folks may say; dey may tell you he’s a hard man, ready ter fight an’ quick ter kill. He’s all dat, an’ maybe mo’; but I know what I know.