hen she had laughed
until she was tired, she suddenly rose to her feet, and as she gathered
up a handful of wet garments, and began rubbing them on the wash-board,
she exclaimed, still chuckling:

"Lemme git to my washin', honey, befo' I disgrace my mo'nin'."

In a little while, however, she grew serious again, and although she
still seemed to have trouble with her shoulders, that insisted upon
expressing merriment, she said:

"I 'clare, I talks like a plumb hycoprite, missy--I sho' does. But I
ain't. No, 'm, I ain't. Of co'se I grieves for Sis' Sophy-Sophia. I'd
grieve for any po' human dat can't find rest in 'er grave--an' I'm gwine
to consolate her, good as I kin. Soon as de dark o' de moon comes, I
gwine out an' set on her grave an' moan, an' ef dat don't ease her,
maybe when her funer'l is preached she'll be comforted."

"And hasn't she had her funeral sermon yet, Tamar?"

"Oh no, 'm. 'Tain't time, hardly, yit. We mos' gin'ly waits two or
three years after de bury-in' befo' we has members' funer'ls preached.
An' we don't nuver, sca'cely, have 'em under a year. You see, dey's a
lot o' smarty folks dat 'ain't got nothin' better to do 'n to bring up
things ag'in dead folks's cha'acter, so we waits tell dey been restin'
in de groun' a year or so. Den a preacher he can expec' to preach dey
funer'ls in peace. De fac' is, some o' our mos' piousest elders an'
deacons is had so many widders show up at dey funer'ls dat de chu'ches
is most of 'em passed a law dat dey compelled to wait a year or so an'
give all dese heah p'omiscu'us widders time to marry off--an' save
scandalizement. An' Pompey an' Sophy-Sophia dey didn't have no mo'n a
broomstick weddin' nohow--but of co'se _dey did have de broomstick. I'm
a witness to dat, 'caze dey borried my broom--yas, 'm._ Ricollec', I
had one o' dese heah green-handle sto'e brooms, an' Pompey he come over
to my cabin one mornin' an' he say, 'Sis' Tamar,' he say, 'would you
mind loandin' Sis' Sophy-Sophia dat green-handle straw broom dat you
sweeps out de chu'ch-house wid?' You 'member, I was married to Wash
Williams dat time--Wash Williams wha' live down heah at de cross-roads
now. He's married to Yaller Silvy now. You know dat red-head
freckled-face yaller gal dat use to sew for Mis' Ann Powers--always
wear a sailor hat--wid a waist on her no thicker'n my wris'--an' a
hitch in her walk eve'y time she pass a man? Dat's de gal. She stole
Wash f'om me--an' she's welcome to 'im. Any '