, were a feather bed and three patchwork
quilts, interlined with wool off the backs of Virginia sheep,
washed and carded by hand. The quilts had been made by her old
mother, and given to her for a marriage portion. The patchwork on
each was done in a different design; one was the popular
"log-cabin" pattern, another the "laurel-leaf," the third the
"blazing star." This quilt Mahailey thought too good for use, and
she had told Mrs. Wheeler that she was saving it "to give Mr.
Claude when he got married."

She slept on her feather bed in winter, and in summer she put it
away in the attic. The attic was reached by a ladder which,
because of her weak back, Mrs. Wheeler very seldom climbed. Up
there Mahailey had things her own way, and thither she often
retired to air the bedding stored away there, or to look at the
pictures in the piles of old magazines. Ralph facetiously called
the attic "Mahailey's library."

One day, while things were being packed for the western ranch,
Mrs. Wheeler, going to the foot of the ladder to call Mahailey,
narrowly escaped being knocked down by a large feather bed which
came plumping through the trap door. A moment later Mahailey
herself descended backwards, holding to the rungs with one hand,
and in the other arm carrying her quilts.

"Why, Mahailey," gasped Mrs. Wheeler. "It's not winter yet;
whatever are you getting your bed for?"

"I'm just a-goin' to lay on my fedder bed," she broke out, "or
direc'ly I won't have none. I ain't a-goin' to have Mr. Ralph
carryin' off my quilts my mudder pieced fur me."

Mrs. Wheeler tried to reason with her, but the old woman took up
her bed in her arms and staggered down the hall with it,
muttering and tossing her head like a horse in fly-time.

That afternoon Ralph brought a barrel and a bundle of straw into
the kitchen and told Mahailey to carry up preserves and canned
fruit, and he would pack them. She went obediently to the cellar,
and Ralph took off his coat and began to line the barrel with
straw. He was some time in doing this, but still Mahailey had not
returned. He went to the head of the stairs and whistled.

"I'm a-comin', Mr. Ralph, I'm a-comin'! Don't hurry me, I don't
want to break nothin'."

Ralph waited a few minutes. "What are you doing down there,
Mahailey?" he fumed. "I could have emptied the whole cellar by
this time. I suppose I'll have to do it myself."

"I'm a-comin'. You'd git yourself all dusty down here." She came
brea