"Wall," said Jasper, "this here is news. What air they goin' to do about it?" "Kain't do nothin', I reckon. Dave would whup the preacher, but the gal he is a goin' to marry told him he shouldn't. Say, Jasper, I was on my way down to Smithfield, an' I didn't know but you mout want suthin' fotch from down thar." "No, ain't a hurtin' fur nothin' at the present. Lemme see. Yes, I want you to give a order to the stone-cutter for a tombstone for mammy's grave." "How big?" "Oh, 'bout three feet by six." "Reckon you'll want suthin' cut on the rock." "Yes. Sot up mighty nigh all night a drawin' of it off. Got it right here." From his pocket he took a piece of paper and began to read: "'Old Black Mammy, come here nobody don't know when an' went home on the eighteenth of June, 1884. Her skin mout have been as dark as the night when thar ain't no moon an' no stars, but her soul is like the risin' of the sun when thar ain't a cloud in the sky.'" Mrs. Mayfield had turned to listen, and Jasper inquired of her: "Will that do, ma'm?" "Yes, Uncle Jasper, it is very expressive." "Wall, would you mind goin' over it an' fixin' it up for me?" "I wouldn't change a word of it," she said, and he thanked her. "Jasper," said Laz, "I didn't know you could write." "Wall," the old man drawled, "I kain't write as putty as the county clerk, but I kin write as big. So you like it, ma'm?" "Yes, Uncle Jasper." "Wall," said he, looking at his work, "it's the truth, an' thar ain't nuthin' skeercer than truth on grave-yard rocks." Margaret came out of the house. "Howdy, Laz." "Ain't runnin' no foot races, but so as to be about." "Folks all as well as usual?" "Ain't hearn no loud complaint." "Miz Mayfield," said Margaret, "Kintchin fotch me a letter from the post-office this mornin' an' as my eyes ain't right good to-day, I wish you'd come in an' read it to me." "Yes, gladly." "Thank you--'specially as my eyes ain't right good this mornin'. Skuze us, Laz," she said, turning to go into the house. "Help yo'se'f," Laz replied, again wiping his jews-harp; and when the two women had gone into the house, he began to play, and the old man, sitting now upon the wood-pile, looking over his epitaph, nodded time. Suddenly the musician left off. "Say, Peters has got his app'intment." The old man's arms dropped. "Air you shore?" "I'm a tellin' you. He's got it writ out on a piece of paper that looks like white luther." "Wall," said Jasper, getting up. "I don't know of any man that's a goin' to w'ar out his shoes a runnin'. But I'm sorry. Was in hopes that he couldn't git it. An' yit, I didn't put the strings back into my shoes." "I understand. You don't want to die with 'em on. But I wouldn't give him any of the advantage." "No, Laz, fur the man that gives the mad dog any of the advantage is almost shore to git bit. An' I don't want Jim to know any mo' about this comin' trouble than he kin help."