ive, the sick woman wore a black shoulder cape over her thick
flannel nightgown; heavy quilts and blankets were piled close about her
thin form, and the window at the side of her bed was tightly closed. Not
a lock of her hair escaped the nightcap that enveloped her head. The
daughter removed an empty food tray and announced, "Mammy, dis lady's
come to see you and I 'spects you is gwine to lak her fine 'cause she
wants to hear 'bout dem old days dat you loves so good to tell about."
Nicey smiled. "I'se so glad you come to see me," she said, "'cause I
gits so lonesome; jus' got to stay here in dis bed, day in and day out.
I'se done wore out wid all de hard wuk I'se had to do, and now I'se a
aged 'oman, done played out and sufferin' wid de high blood pressur'.
But I kin talk and I does love to bring back dem good old days a-fore de
war."

Newspapers had been pasted on the walls of Nicey's room. In one corner
an enclosed staircase was cut off from the room by a door at the head of
the third step; the space underneath the stair was in use as a closet.
The marble topped bureau, two double beds, a couple of small tables, and
some old chairs were all of a period prior to the current century. A pot
of peas was perched on a pair of "firedogs" over the coals of a wood
fire in the open fireplace. On a bed of red coals a thick iron pan held
a large pone of cornbread, and the tantalizing aroma of coffee drew
attention to a steaming coffeepot on a trivet in one corner of the
hearth. Nicey's daughter turned the bread over and said, "Missy, I jus'
bet you ain't never seed nobody cookin' dis way. Us is got a stove back
in de kitchen, but our somepin t'eat seems to taste better fixed dis
'way; it brings back dem old days when us was chillun and all of us was
at home wid mammy." Nicey grinned. "Missy," she said, "Annie--dat's dis
gal of mine here--laughs at de way I laks dem old ways of livin', but
she's jus' as bad 'bout 'em as I is, 'specially 'bout dat sort of
cookin'; somepin t'eat cooked in dat old black pot is sho good.

"Marse Gerald Sharp and his wife, Miss Annie, owned us and, Child, dey
was grand folks. Deir old home was 'way up in Jackson County 'twixt
Athens and Jefferson. Dat big old plantation run plumb back down to de
Oconee River. Yes, mam, all dem rich river bottoms was Marse Gerald's.

"Mammy's name was Ca'line and she b'longed to Marse Gerald, but Marse
Hatton David owned my daddy--his name was Phineas. De David place w