ed to grapple with me these last two years--wants to make me
landlord of the Goose and Pepper-box, taking her as a fixture with the
premises. I suspect I should be the goose, and she the pepper-box;--but
we never could shape that course. In the first place, there's too much
of her; and, in the next, there's too much of me. I explained this to
the old lady as well as I could; and she swelled up as big as a balloon,
saying, that, when people were really _attached_, they never _attached_
any weight to such trifling obstacles."

"But you must have been sweet upon her, Cockle?"

"Nothing more than a little sugar to take the nauseous taste of my long
bill out of her mouth. As for the love part of the story, that was all
her own. I never contradict a lady, because it's not polite; but since I
explained, the old woman has huffed, and wo'n't trust me with half a
quartern--will she, Moonshine?"

"No, sar: when I try talk her over, and make promise, she say dat _all
moonshine_. But, sar, I try 'gain--I tink I know how." And Moonshine
disappeared, leaving us in the dark as to what his plans might be.

"I wonder you never did marry, Cockle," I observed.

"You would not wonder if you knew all. I must say, that once, and once
only, I was very near it. And to whom do you think it was--a woman of
colour."

"A black woman?"

"No: not half black, only a quarter--what they call a quadroon in the
West Indies. But, thank Heaven! she refused me."

"Refused you! hang it, Cockle, I never thought that you had been refused
by a woman of colour."

"I was, though. You shall hear how it happened. She had been the
quadroon wife (you know what that means) of a planter of the name of
Guiness; he died, and not only bequeathed her her liberty, but also four
good houses in Port Royal, and two dozen slaves. He had been dead about
two years, and she was about thirty, when I first knew her. She was very
rich, for she had a good income and spent nothing, except in jewels and
dress to deck out her own person, which certainly was very handsome,
even at that time, for she never had had any family. Well, if I was not
quite in love with her, I was with her houses and her money; and I used
to sit in her verandah and talk sentimental. One day I made my proposal.
'Massa Cockle,' said she, 'dere two ting I not like; one is, I not like
your name. 'Pose I 'cept you offer, you must change you name.'

"'Suppose you accept my offer, Mistris Guiness, you'll chang