"No, Mars Jasper, I hain't hardly got time." She looked at the company, bade every one good morning, with a heart-felt "God bless you;" and looking at Mrs. Mayfield, slowly advanced toward her, gazing at her hand. "W'y, honey, I neber seed de like o' putty rings you's got on. Da's like de speret o' light er wrappin' round yo' fingers." "Mammy, they are but glittering memories." "Yas'm, da do shine might'ly ef dat whut you means." Tom and Lou were going out. "Don't stray off," said Mrs. Mayfield. "We are going to the post office, you know." "Yes, if that fetch-taked nigger ever gits the hoss hitched up," Margaret spoke up. Jasper snatched up his hat. "Oh, he'd hitch up a hoss to the fou'th of July jest about in time to drive up to the front door of Christmas. I'll go and see about it myse'f. Slowest nigger I ever seed," and muttering he went out. Old mammy, still looking at the city woman's rings, began softly to croon: "I neber seed er po' ole nigger dat didn't like rings. I had er whole lot o' 'em once, but da turned green, an' da'd pizen me ef I teched 'em wid my mouf. But one time Mars Jasper gib me one dat didn't turn green, an' I lost it. You allus loses de best, you know. Honey, Mars Jasper is allus doin' suthin' fur me. I nussed him w'en he wuz er chile an' he dun paid me back mo' den er hunnud times; an' w'en I got ole an' wuz down wid de rheumatiz, an' couldn't sleep in de night w'en de lonesome cow er lowin' on de hill-side, he sot up wid me an' spell out de words o' de Lawd, fur he kain't read right quick. He couldn't been mo' tender wid his mudder, an' I gwine ter tell de Lawd w'en I goes home, an' it won't be long--no'm it won't. An' on de wall by my bed I dun made chalk marks o' de things I gwine tell de Lawd, an' dar ain't hardly no mo' room fur new marks, da all been so good ter me; but I gwine make one fur you, honey, caze you looked kind at me. Yas'm, I is. But I must be gwine. Lawd bless you all; an' you too, strange lady." And as this old creature walked out she still muttered blessings upon them; this endeared old link, tenderly binding some of us to one of the sweetest memories of the past. She is passing over the threshold into the "big house" of eternity, this mother of love and charity, who sang the little children to sleep, whose ebon fingers bound the wounds of youth. She knew enough of God to be all love--of Christ to forgive all wrongs. "The wagon's ready," Jasper called, and Mrs. Mayfield turned to Jim. "Won't you come too?" He scrambled up, as if stung into action, grabbed his hat, went boldly close to her and said: "If I thought yo' wish was in yo' invitation, Satan couldn't hold me back, and the Lord wouldn't." "What a strange compliment." "Ma'm, I don't know how to speak compliments." "Come on, please." CHAPTER IV. AT THE POST OFFICE.