ds off it. He don't know nuttin 'bout black folks,
ain' nuver been fotch up wid 'em. Who ever heah he name 'fo' he come
heah an' buy de place, an' move in de overseer house, an' charge we all
eight hundred dollars for dis land, jes 'cause it got little piece o'
bottom on it, an' forty-eight dollars rent besides, wid he ole stingy
wife whar oon' even gi' 'way buttermilk!" An expression of mingled
disgust and contempt concluded the reflection.

She took the ash-cake out of the ashes, slapped it first on one side,
then on the other, with her hand, dusted it with her apron, and walked
to the door and poured a gourd of water from the piggin over it. Then
she divided it in half; one half she set up against the side of the
chimney, the other she broke up into smaller pieces and distributed
among the children, dragging the sleeping Eph, limp and soaked with
sleep, from the cradle to receive his share. Her manner was not rough--
was perhaps even tender--but she used no caresses, as a white woman
would have done under the circumstances. It was only toward the baby at
the breast that she exhibited any endearments. Her nearest approach to
it with the others was when she told them, as she portioned out the
ash-cake, "Mammy ain't got nuttin else; but ntiver min', she gwine have
plenty o' good meat next year, when deddy done pay for he land."

"Hi! who dat out dyah?" she said, suddenly. "Run to de do', son, an'
see who dat comin'," and the whole tribe rushed to inspect the
new-comer.

It was, as she suspected, her husband, and as soon as he entered she
saw that something was wrong. He dropped into a chair, and sat in moody
silence, the picture of fatigue, physical and mental. After waiting for
some time, she asked, indifferently. "What de matter?"

"Dat man."

"What he done do now?" The query was sharp with suspicion.

"He say he ain' gwine let me have my land."

"He's a half-strainer," said the woman, with sudden anger. "How he
gwine help it? Ain' you got crap on it?" She felt that there must be a
defence against such an outrage.

"He say he ain' gwine wait no longer; dat I wuz to have tell Christmas
to finish payin' for it, an' I ain' do it, an' now he done change he
min'."

"Tell dis Christmas comin'," said his wife, with the positiveness of
one accustomed to expound contracts.

"Yes; but I tell you he say he done change he min'." The man had
evidently given up all hope; he was dead beat.

"De crap's yourn," said she,