"Go 'way f'om yere, suh; dese yer chickings ain' no po' w'ite trash--dey's been riz on de bes' er de lan', dey is--en de aigs dey wuz hatched right dar in de middle er de baid whar me en my ole man en de chillun sleep. De hull time dat black hen wuz a-settin', Cephus he was bleeged ter lay right spang on de bar' flo' caze we'uz afeared de aigs 'ould addle. Lawd! Lawd! dey wuz plum three weeks a-hatchin', en de weather des freeze thoo en thoo. Cephus he's been crippled up wid de rheumatics ever sence. Go 'way f'om yer, marster. I warn't bo'n yestiddy. Thirty cents!" "Not a copper more, I tell you. Let me go, my good woman; I can't stand here all night." "Des a minute, marster. Dese yer chickings ain' never sot dey feet on de yearth, caze dey's been riz right in de cabin, en dey's done et dar vittles outer de same plate wid me en Cephus. Ef'n dey spy a chice bit er bacon on de een er de knife hit 'uz moughty likely ter fin' hits way down dir throat instid er down me en Cephus'." "Let me go, I say--I don't want your blamed chickens; take 'em home again." "Hi! marster, I'se Mehitable. You ain't fergot how peart I use ter wuk w'en you wuz over me in ole marster's day. You know you ain' fergot Mehitable, suh. Ain't you recollect de time ole marster gimme a dollar wid his own han' caze I foun' de biggest wum in de hull 'baccy patch? Lawd! dey wuz times, sho's you bo'n. I kin see ole marster now es plain es ef twuz yestiddy, so big en shiny like satin, wid his skin des es tight es a watermillion's." "Shut up, confound you!" cut in Fletcher sharply. "If you don't stop your chatter I'll set the dogs on you. Shut up, I say!" He strode into the house, slamming the heavy door behind him, and a moment afterward Carraway heard him scolding brutally at the servants across the hall. The old Negress had gone muttering from the porch with her unsold chickens, when the door softly opened again, and the girl, who had entered through the front with her basket of flowers, came out into the growing moonlight. "Wait a moment, Aunt Mehitable," she said. "I want to speak to you." Aunt Mehitable turned slowly, putting a feeble hand to her dazed eyes. "You ain' ole miss come back agin, is you, honey?" she questioned doubtfully. "I don't know who your old miss was," replied the girl, "but I am not she, whoever she may have been. I am Maria Fletcher. You don't remember me--yet you used to bake me ash-cakes when I was a little girl." The old woman shook her head. "You ain' Marse Fletcher's chile?" "His granddaughter--but I must go in to supper. Here is the money for your chickens--grandpa was only joking; you know he loves to joke. Take the chickens to the hen-house and get something hot to eat in the kitchen before you start out again." She ran hurriedly up the steps and entered the hall just as Fletcher was shaking hands with his guest. CHAPTER III. Showing that a Little Culture Entails Great Care