ere narrow and ill-paved, their rough cobbles
being often obstructed by idle drays, heavy anchors, and rusting
anchor-chains, all on free storage. Up one of these crooked streets,
screened from the brick sidewalk by a measly wooden fence, stood a
two-story wooden house, its front yard decorated with clothes-lines
running criss-cross from thumbs of fence-posts to fingers of shutters--a
sort of cat's-cradle along whose meshes Aunt Jemima hung her wet
clothes.

On this particular day what was left of St. George Temple's wardrobe and
bed linen, with the exception of what that gentleman had on his back,
was either waving in the cool air of the morning or being clothes-pinned
so that it might wave later on.

Todd's anxious face was the first to thrust itself from around the
corner of a sagging, sloppy sheet. The two had entered the gate in the
fence at the same moment, but St. George had been lost in the maze of
dripping linen.

"Go'way f'om dar, you fool nigger, mussin' up my wash! Keep yo' black
haid off'er dem sheets, I tell ye, 'fo' I smack ye! An' ye needn't come
down yere a-sassin' me 'bout Marse George's clo'es, 'cause dey ain't
done--" (here Temple's head came into view, his face in a broad smile).
"Well, fer de lan's sakes, Marse George. What ye come down yere fer?
Here--lemme git dat basket outer yo' way--No, dem hands ain't fit fer
nobody to shake--My!--but I's mighty glad ter see ye! Don't tell me
ye come fer dat wash--I been so pestered wid de weather--nothin' don't
dry."

He had dodged a wet sheet and had the old woman by the hand now, her
face in a broad grin at sight of him.

"No, aunty--I came down to pay you some money."

"You don't owe me no money--leastwise you don't owe me nothin' till ye
kin pay it," and she darted an annihilating glance at Todd.

"Yes, I do--but let me see where you live. What a fine place--plenty of
room except on wash-days. All those mine?--I didn't know I had that many
clothes left. Pick up that basket, Todd, and bring it in for aunty." The
two made their way between the wet linen and found themselves in front
of the dwelling. "And is this all yours?"

"De fust flo' front an 'back is mine an' de top flo' I rents out. Got a
white man in dere now dat works in de lumber yard. Jes' come up an' see
how I fixed it up."

"And tell me about your sister--is she better?" he continued.

The old woman put her arms akimbo: "Lawd bress ye, Marse George!--who
done tol' ye dat fool lie!