"You'se quar, Missy Ella. You'se up an' you'se down, an' you doan know why. Ole Hannah dat lib wid you says dat you'se gittin' a lot ob beaux. Why, you eben make a 'pression on dat big, 'ansome Northern chap, ole Houghton's son, wen you doan know it. More'n once he ax me which de cakes you make, an' wen I tell him, he wanter buy dem all." "That's very funny," Ella said, and there was the old mirthful ring in her laugh. "You know him?" Aun' Sheba asked, quickly. "I met him at Mrs. Willoughby's." "Shuah now! Dat counts fer it. Well, he'd gobble all you'se cake if I'd let him, but I had oder cus'mers on my min'; an' he seem ter hab on'y you on his min'." "You were very wise, Aun' Sheba. So much cake would have made him ill," and she still laughed joyously. "'Pears to me you'se gittin' betteh, Missy Ella." "Oh, you always make me laugh and hearten me up, Aun' Sheba." "Well, who'd a tink dat ar civil, nice spoken young man was de son ob dat ole sinner Houghton. Beckon Missy Mara doan like you'se talkin' wid him at Mis Wil'by's." "Of course not. He's a Northern Vandal, you know." "Dunno notin' 'bout Wandals. I jedge folks by wot dey is deysefs. He couldn't help bein' bawn at de Norf. Long as he 'habe himself, wot dat agin him?" "Being born at the North is a crime, some people think." "Yes,--I know, but dat ar suttingly fool talk. Dat ain't de trouble so much in dis case. It's cause he's dat ole 'tankerous Houghton's son." "He isn't to blame for that either," Ella answered, hotly. "Lor', Missy Ella! how you stan' up fer 'im." "I don't believe in injustice, Aun' Sheba," said Ella quietly, conscious meanwhile that her cheeks were getting very red. "De heat _am_ po'ful," Aun' Sheba remarked, sententiously. Then her plump form began to shake with mirth. "Dar now, Missy Ella," she added, "de blin' ole woman kin see as fur in de grin-stone as de next one. He'd stan' up fer you agin de hull worl. It shines right out in his 'ansome face." "How very blind you are, Aun' Sheba! Why, he's not fit to be spoken to, and I'm not to speak to him again as long as I live. Good-by. Good-by, Uncle Sheba. I've heard that sawing wood was the best cure for rheumatism known;" and she flitted out of the dusky cabin like a tropical bird. Aun' Sheba still laughed to herself, and remarked, "Unc., s'pose you try Missy Ella's cure?" "Wot she know 'bout it?" growled Uncle Sheba, with an injured aspect. "Wot de use ob sawin' wood all day wen de town hot 'nuff now to roas' lobsters?" "Dat min's me, Unc. Why don' you took ter some sittin' wuck like fishin' in de harbor? You mought catch a lobster, or some oder fish." "De fish an' me 'ud bof be briled in dis yere sun 'fore we got home." "Bar, Unc., you wouldn't go to Heben 'less you was toted." "Ob cose not. Doan de Bible say de angels gwine ter tote us?" "Well, I s'pose dey is.--Ef a body ony know'd weder it ud be up or down."