twenty-fo'," or, "Don't you reckon I mus' be purty nigh on to nineteen?"
And then, when she saw from her questioner's face that she had made a
mistake, she would add, quickly: "I means twenty-fo' _hund'ed_, honey,"
or, "I means a _hund'ed_ an' nineteen," which latter amendment no doubt
came nearer the truth.

Having arrived at a figure that seemed to be acceptable, she would
generally repeat it, in this way:

"Yas, missy; I was twenty-fo' hund'ed years ole las' Easter Sunday."

The old woman had never forgotten that she had been named Easter because
she was born on that day, and so she always claimed Easter Sunday as her
birthday, and no amount of explanation would convince her that this was
not always true.

"What diff'ence do it make ter me ef it comes soon or late, I like ter
know?" she would argue. "Ef it comes soon, I gits my birfday presents
dat much quicker; an' ef it comes late, you all got dat much mo' time
ter buy me some mo'. 'Tain't fur me ter deny my birfday caze it moves
round."

And then she would add, with a peal of her high, cracked laughter: "Seem
ter me, de way I keeps a-livin' on--an' a-livin' on--_an' a-livin'
on_--maybe deze heah slip-aroun' birfdays don't pin a pusson down ter
ole age so close't as de clock-work reg'lars does."

And then, if she were in the mood for it, she would set her basket down,
and, without lifting her feet from the ground, go through a number of
quick and comical movements, posing with her arms and body in a way that
was absurdly like dancing.

Old Easter had been a very clever woman in her day, and many an extra
picayune had been dropped into her wrinkled palm--nobody remembered the
time when it wasn't wrinkled--in the old days, just because of some
witty answer she had given while she untied the corner of her
handkerchief for the coins to make change in selling her candy.

[Illustration: "'YAS, MISSY, I WAS TWENTY FO' HOND'ED YEARS OLE, LAS'
EASTER SUNDAY'"]

One of the very interesting things about the old woman was her memory.
It was really very pleasant to talk with a person who could
distinctly recall General Jackson and Governor Claiborne, who would tell
blood-curdling tales of Lafitte the pirate and of her own wonderful
experiences when as a young girl she had served his table at Barataria.

If, as her memory failed her, the old creature was tempted into making
up stories to supply the growing demand, it would not be fair to blame
her too severely. Indee