in dar warn't no mo' hope fur old Ned dan fur a
foundered sheep. Laws-a-massy! dat's why I went ter sleep. I wanted ter
hev strengt' ter put on his burial clo'es in de mornin'. But don' yer
see, Marsh Sharles, dat when he got so mad it brought on a sweat dat
_broke de fever_! It saved him! But, fur all dat, arter munchin' an'
manglin' my chany teef, he has de imperdence ob tryin' to 'prive me ob
de pig I honestly 'arned."

It was a hard case. Uncle Ned sat there a very image of injured dignity,
while Aunt Anniky bound a red handkerchief around her mouth and fanned
herself with her turkey-tail.

"I am sure I don't know how to settle the matter," said father,
helplessly. "Ned, I don't see but that you'll have to pay up."

"Neber, Mars' Charles, neber."

"Well, suppose you get married?" suggested father, brilliantly. "That
will unite your interests, you know."

Aunt Anniky tossed her head. Uncle Ned was old, wizened, wrinkled as a
raisin, but he eyed Anniky over with a supercilious gaze, and said with
dignity: "Ef I wanted ter marry, I could git a likely young gal."

All the four points of Anniky's turban shook with indignation. "Pay me
fur dem chany teef!" she hissed.

Some visitors interrupted the dispute at this time, and the two old
darkies went away.

A week later Uncle Ned appeared with rather a sheepish look.

"Well, Mars' Charles," he said, "I's about concluded dat I'll marry
Anniky."

"Ah! is that so?"

"'Pears like it's de onliest way I kin save my pigs," said Uncle Ned,
with a sigh. "When she's married she boun' ter _'bey_ me. Women 'bey
your husbands; dat's what de good Book says."

"Yes, she will _bay_ you, I don't doubt," said my father, making a pun
that Uncle Ned could not appreciate.

"An' ef ever she opens her jaw ter me 'bout dem ar teef," he went on,
"I'll _mash_ her."

Uncle Ned tottered on his legs like an unscrewed fruit-stand, and I had
my own opinion as to his "mashing" Aunt Anniky. This opinion was
confirmed the next day when father offered her his congratulations. "You
are old enough to know your own mind," he remarked.

"I's ole, maybe," said Anniky, "but so is a oak-tree, an' it's
vigorous, I reckon. I's a purty vigorous sort o' growth myself, an' I
reckon I'll have my own way with Ned. I'm gwine ter fatten dem pigs o'
hisn, an' you see ef I don't sell 'em nex' Christmas fur money 'nouf ter
git a new string o' chany teef."

"Look here, Anniky," said father, with a burst of