fire; but she still had her stand
there, and she was keeping the flies and dust away with the same old
turkey-tail fan. I could see no change. If her hair was grayer, it was
covered and concealed from view by the snow-white handkerchief tied
around her head. From my place I could hear her humming a tune--the tune
I had heard her sing in precisely the same way years ago. I heard her
scolding a little boy. The gesture, the voice, the words, were the same
she had employed in trying to convince me that my room was much better
than my company, especially in the neighborhood of her cake-stand. To
see and hear her thus gave me a peculiar feeling of homesickness. I
approached and saluted her. She bowed with old-fashioned politeness, but
without looking up.

"De biggest uns, dee er ten cent," she said, pointing to her cakes; "en
de littlest, dee er fi' cent. I make um all myse'f, suh. En de beer in
dat jug--dat beer got body, suh."

"I have eaten many a one of your cakes, Aunt Fountain," said I, "and
drank many a glass of your beer; but you have forgotten me."

"My eye weak, suh, but dee ain' weak nuff fer dat." She shaded her eyes
with her fan, and looked at me. Then she rose briskly from her chair.
"De Lord he'p my soul!" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "W'y, I know you
w'en you little boy. W'at make I ain' know you w'en you big man? My eye
weak, suh, but dee ain' weak nuff fer dat. Well, suh, you mus' eat some
my ginger-cake. De Lord know you has make way wid um w'en you wuz little
boy."

The invitation was accepted, but somehow the ginger-cakes had lost their
old-time relish; in me the taste and spirit of youth were lacking.

We talked of old times and old friends, and I told Aunt Fountain that I
had come to Rockville for the purpose of visiting in the neighborhood of
the Tomlinson Place.

"Den I gwine wid you, suh," she cried, shaking her head vigorously. "I
gwine wid you." And go she did.

"I been layin' off ter go see my young mistiss dis long time," said Aunt
Fountain, the next day, after we had started. "I glad I gwine deer in
style. De niggers won' know me skacely, ridin' in de buggy dis away."

"Your young mistress?" I inquired.

"Yes, suh. You know Miss Lady w'en she little gal. She grown 'oman now."

"Well, who is this Trunion I have heard of?"

"He monst'ous nice w'ite man, suh. He married my young mistiss. He
monst'ous nice w'ite man."

"But who is he? Where did he come from?"

Aunt Fountain chuckl