Here we interposed, and told the old lady that our time was precious—that we wished to take down the number of her family, and the produce raised by her last year, and be off. After a good deal of trouble, we got through with the description of the members of her family, and the “statistical table,” as far as the article “cloth.” “How many yards of cotton cloth did you weave in 1850, Ma’am?” “Well now, the Lord have mercy! less see. You know Sally Higgins that used to live in the Smith settlement? Poor thing! her daddy drove her off all on the ’count of Jack Miller, poor creetur! poor gal! she couldn’t help it, I dare say. Well, Sally she come to stay ’long wi’ me when the old man druv her away, and she was a powerful good hand to weave, and I _did_ think she’d help me a power. Well, arter she’d bin here awhile, her baby hit took sick, and Old Miss Stringer she undertook to help it. She’s a powerful good hand, old Miss Stringer, on roots and yearbs and sich like! Well, the Lord look down from above! she made a sort of a tea, as I was a tellin’, and she gin it to Sally’s baby; it got wuss—the poor creetur—and she gin it tea, and looked like the more she gin it tea, the more—” “My dear Madam, I’m in a hurry—please tell me how many yards of cotton you wove in 1850. I want to get through and go on.” “Well, well, the Lord have mercy! who’d a thought you’d a bin so snappish! Well, as I was a sayin’, Sally’s child it kept gittin’ wus, and old Miss Stringer she kept a givin’ it the yearb tea, till at last the child hit looked like hit would die anyhow. And ’bout the time the child was at its wust, Old Daddy Sikes he come along, and he said if we git some nightshed berries and stew them with a little cream and some hog’s lard. Now Old Daddy Sikes is a mighty fine old man, and he giv the boys a heap of mighty good counsel about that case. “‘Boys,’ said he ‘I’ll tell you what you do; you go and—’” “In the name of goodness, old lady,” said we, “tell about your cloth; and let the sick child and Miss Stringer, Daddy Sikes, the boys, and the law-suit, go the Old Scratch. I’m in a hurry!” “Gracious, bless your dear soul! don’t git aggravated. I was jist a tellin’ you how it come I didn’t weave no cloth last year.” “Oh, well you didn’t weave any cloth last year. Good! We’ll go on to the next article.” “Yes; you see the child hit begun to swell and turn yaller, and hit kept a wallin’ its eyes, and a moanin’, and I know’d—” “Never mind about the child—just tell me the value of the poultry you raised last year.” “Oh, well—yes—the chickens, you means. Why, the Lord love your poor soul; I reckon you never in your born days see a creetur have the luck that I did—and looks like we never shall have any good luck agin; for ever since old Simpson tuk that case up to the Chancery Court—” “Never mind the case, let’s hear about the chickens, if you please.”