hers, which is saying a
good deal, both as to color and shine.

After the ceremony everybody repaired, for a supper and dance, to the
sugar-house, where there was a bride's cake, with all the usual
accessories, such as the ring and thimble, to be cut for. And of course,
before the end of the evening, there was the usual distribution of bits
of cake to be "dreamed on." This last, indeed, was so important that
nearly every girl on the plantation slept in a neighbor's cabin that
night, so as to command the full potency of the charm by dreaming her
great dream in a strange bed. The whole wedding was, in fact, so
disturbing a social function that everything on the place was more or
less disarranged by it--even the breakfast hour at the great house,
which was fully three-quarters of an hour late next morning. But that
was no great matter, as all the family had been witnesses to the wedding
and were somewhat sleepy in consequence--and the "rising-bell" was a
movable form anyway.

Perhaps if the nuptials had been less festive the demeanor of the bride
immediately afterwards would not have been so conspicuous. As it was,
however, when she appeared at the wash-house, ready for duty, on the
second morning following, dressed in heavy mourning, and wearing,
moreover, a pseudo-sorrowful expression on her every-otherwise shining
face, they wondered, and there was some nudging and whispering among the
negroes. Some hastily concluded that the marriage had been rashly
repudiated as a failure; but when presently the groom strolled into the
yard, smiling broadly, and when he proceeded with many a flourish to
devotedly fill her wash-tubs from the well for his bride, they saw that
there must be some other explanation. The importance of the central
figure in so recent a pageant still surrounded her with somewhat of a
glamour in the eyes of her companions, setting her apart, so that they
were slow to ask her any questions.

Later in the day, though, when her mistress, happening to pass through
the yard, saw the black-gowned figure bending low over the tubs, she
hastened to the wash-shed.

"Why, Tamar," she exclaimed, "what on earth--"

At this Tamar raised her face and smiled faintly. Then, glancing down at
her dress to indicate that she understood, she drawled, demurely:

"Ain't nothin' de matter, missy. I jes mo'nin' for Sister Sophy-Sophia."

"Sophy-Sophia! You don't mean--"

"Yas, 'm, I does. I means Pompey's las' wife, Sis' Soph