But the little girl flew forward, climbing benches and creeping under the bar. She had nearly reached the old man when the President, leaning forward, said: "Are you not the girl I sent to Mrs. Parsons's as general servant?" "Yes, mehm," said the candidate, taking tight hold of the old man's coat. "I have a very bad account of you." "Yes, mehm." "Mrs. Tilson says you are idle and good for nothing." "Yes, mehm." The old man took her hand. "She ain't berry well, mehm, sence we come t' Bosting. Mebbe she'll be better able by'm-by t' go where dere ain't eleben chillen and so much snow ter shubbel." "You look anything but strong," said the President. "I'll try to find you an easier place. They all want easier places," she said, over her shoulder, to the domestic philanthropists. "Hush! Hush! I'll tell de lady, honey, ef yer don' take an' cry." But the President was motioning the other candidate forward. The old man stood hesitating, and then began shakily: "It 'ud be mighty kin', mehm, ef yo' could get Till an' me de same place." "The _same_ place!" echoed the President, sharply. "Y--yes, mehm," faltered the old man, backing timidly; "or anyways places close togedder, mehm, please, mehm." "That's seldom possible." The little quadroon wept audibly. The old man patted her arm feebly. "I--I disremember it myself, but Till, yere, _she_ says I tol' 'er down Georgy dat up yere in Bosting dey didn't nebber make de chilluns go one way an' de ole folks anudder." "We'll do what we can." "Thank yo', mehm." And they went out. The President made an entry in the ledger. "The old grandfather is said to be an invaluable hand at polishing plate," she said, with a sardonic look at her fellow philanthropists. "Any one who wishes may see his credentials after the meeting. Daughter, I called the next candidate." "I _have_ told her, ma." "Come forward!" commanded the President. The big mulatto woman wriggled about, and then got up, frightfully embarrassed, and by dint of kindly urging from "daughter" and the President, she was finally landed in front of the desk. "Now," said the President, fixing the woman through her spectacles, "where have you resided?" This question was repeated three times and in three forms. "Oh, w'ere I libs? Up Corn Alley." "But before you lived in Corn Alley, where did you come from?" "F'om Jacksing's." "Where did the Jacksons live?" "On de hill." "What hill?" She thought deeply, and then looked up, grinning and silent. "What State?" asked the President, with a haggard air. "State?" "Yes, Georgia or Alabama?" "No, mehm. It was Keziah wus f'om Alabammy." "What is your name?" "Yellah Sal." She squirmed with an elephantine coquetry. "Your last name?" "Las'?" "Are you married?" "Huh! Yes, mehm," she chuckled. "What was your husband's name?" "W'ich husbin?" "Have you been married more than once?" "Huh! Yes, mehm." She bridled and twisted. "Six or seben times."