lained. "He calls her 'Angy,' I s'pose, 'cause she's so
purty like; and you tells him 'bout dem hebbenly kine of people, so de
say, mos' ebbery night. Does you think dar is such tings, sure enough,
Mirry?"

"Certainly, Dinah--the Bible tells us so; but what is the name of the
pretty little girl of whom you speak? Tell me, if you know"--and I laid
my hand upon her arm and whispered this inquiry, waiting impatiently for
a confirmation of my almost certainty. For, that my darling _was_
Ernie's Angy, I could not doubt, and the thought moved me to tremulous
emotion.

"Dar, now! you is going to hab one ob dem bad turns agin--I sees it in
your eyes. You see," dropping her voice for a moment, "I darsn't dar to
speak out plain and 'bove-board heah, as if I was at home in Georgy!
Ehbery ting is wat dey calls a 'mist'ry hereabouts; an' I has bin
notified not to tell ob no secret doins ob deirn to any airthly creeter,
onless I wants to be smacked into jail an' guv up to my wrong owners. My
own folks went down on de 'Scewsko;' an' I means to wait till I see how
dat 'state's gwine to be settled up afore I pursents myself as 'mong de
live ones. We is all published as dead, you sees, honey, an' it would be
no lie to preach our funeral, or eben put up our foot-board. He--he--he!
I wonder wat my ole man 'll say ef he ebber sees me comin' back agin wid
a bag full ob money? I guess it 'll skeer de ole creeter out ob a year's
growfe; but dis is de trufe! Ef Miss Polly Allen gits de 'state (she was
my mistis's born full-sifter, an' a mity fine ole maid, I tells you,
chile!), wy, den Sabra 'll he found to be no ghose; fur it's easier to
lib wid good wite folks Souf dan Norf. We hab our own housen dar, an'
pigs, an' poultry, an' taturs, an' a heap besides, an' time to come an'
go, an' doctors won we's sick, an' our own preachin', an' de banjo an'
bones to dance by, an' de best ob funeral 'casions an' weddin's bofe,
an' no cole wedder, an' nuffin to do but set by de light wood-fiah, an'
smoke a pipe wen we gits past work; an' we chooses our own time to lay
by--some sooner, some later, 'cordin' as de jints holes out. But here it
is work--work--work--all de time; good pay, but no holiday, no yams, no
possum-meat, an' mity mean colored siety!"

"But what has all this to do with the name of the little girl next door?
Whisper that, and tell me the rest afterward."

"But, if Master Jack Dillard gits de 'state," she proceeded, as though
she had no