er, seein' how he done traded his soul to him for money!

"An' Sam's here ag'in to-night! dunno who he's come arter! but he's
here, now, I tells you all good!" said Jenny, as she took up the urn to
carry it into the parlor.

When she got there she could scarcely get to the fire; Paul took up the
front. His immobility and unconsciousness irritated Jenny beyond silent
endurance.

"I tell you all what," she said, "I means to 'sign my sitewation! 'deed
me! I can't kill myself for dem as wouldn't even care 'nough for me to
have a mass said for de 'pose o' my soul."

"What do you mean?" asked Paul, angrily, for confinement, solitude, bad
weather, and anxiety, had combined, to make him querulous, too.

"I means how ef yer doesn't have a kivered way made from de house to de
kitchen an' back ag'in, I gwine give up waitin' on de table, now min' I
tell yer, 'deed me! an' now ef you likes, yer may jes' go an' tell Marse
Rooster."

"'Marse Rooster!' Will you ever give up that horrid nonsense. Why, you
old--! Is my brother--is your master a barn-door chicken-cock, that you
call him 'Rooster?'" asked the young man, snappishly.

"Well, Shrooster, den, ef you wants me to wring my tongue in two. Ef
people's sponsors in baptism will gib der chillun such heathen names,
how de debbil any Christian 'oman gwine to twis' her tongue roun' it? I
thanks my 'Vine Marster dat my sponsors in baptism named me arter de
bressed an' holy S'int Jane--who has 'stained an' s'ported me all my
days; an' 'ill detect now, dough you do try to break my poor ole heart
long wid onkindness at my ole ages o' life! But what's de use o'
talkin'--Sam's waystin'!" And so saying, Jenny gave the finishing
touches to the arrangement of the table, and then seized the bell, and
rang it with rather needless vigor and violence, to bring the scattered
members of the family together.

They came, slowly and singly, and drew around the table more like ghosts
than living persons, a few remarks upon the storm, and then they sunk
into silence--and as soon as the gloomy meal was over, one by one they
dropped away from the room--first went poor Fanny, then Mr. Willcoxen,
then Miriam.

"Where are you going, Miriam?" asked Paul, as the latter was leaving the
room.

"To my chamber."

And before he could farther question, or longer detain her, she pressed
his hand and went out. And Paul, with a deep sigh and a strangely
foreboding heart, sank back into his seat.

When Miria