partisanship, and some of them were loud in their threats, going much
further than the men. No doubt Aunt Charity would have taken a different
course had she been in her husband's place, if only for the sake of her
colour, as she called her race. She was very fond of her own white
folks, but she had her prejudices against the rest.

When Uncle Plato reached home and told his wife what he had said and
done, she drew a long breath and looked at him hard for some time. Then
she took up her pipe from the chimney-corner, remarking, "Well, what you
done, you done; dar's yo' supper."

Uncle Plato had a remarkably good appetite, and while he ate, Aunt
Charity sat near a window and looked out at the stars. She was getting
together in her mind a supply of personal reminiscences, of which she
had a goodly store. Presently, she began to shake with laughter, which
she tried to suppress. Uncle Plato mistook the sound he heard for an
evidence of grief, and he spoke up promptly:

"I declar' ef I'd 'a' know'd I wuz gwine ter hurt yo' feelings, I'd 'a'
j'ined in wid um den an' dar. An' 'taint too late yit. I kin go ter
Br'er Jerry an' tell him whilst I ain't change my own min' I'll j'ine in
wid um druther dan be offish an' mule-headed."

"No you won't! no you won't! no you won't!" exclaimed Aunt Charity. "I
mought 'a' done diffunt, an' I mought 'a' done wrong. We'll hatter git
out'n de church, ef you kin call it a church, but dat ain't so mighty
hard ter do. Yit, 'fo' we does git out I'm gwine ter preach ol' Jerry's
funer'l one time--des one time. Dat what make me laugh des now; I was
runnin' over in my min' how I kin raise his hide. Some folks got de
idee dat kaze I'm fat I'm bleeze ter be long-sufferin'; but you know
better'n dat, don't you?"

"Well, I know dis," said Uncle Plato, wiping his mouth with the back of
his hand, "when you git yo' dander up you kin talk loud an' long."

"Miss Sa'ah done tol' me dat when I git mad, I kin keep up a
conversation ez long ez de nex' one," remarked Aunt Charity, with real
pride. "An' den dar's dat hat Miss Sa'ah gi' me; I laid off ter w'ar it
ter church nex' Sunday, but now--well, I speck I better des w'ar my
head-hankcher, kaze dey's sho gwine ter be trouble ef any un um look at
me cross-eyed."

"You gwine, is you?" Uncle Plato asked.

"Ef I live," replied Aunt Charity, "I'm des ez good ez dar right now.
An' mo' dan dat, you'll go too. 'Tain't gwineter be said dat de Clopton
niggers hung