: "DE LORD HAS DONE 'P'INTED YER TO BE A GUARDIAN ANGEL TO
DAT PO' CHILE."]

"Vina's got an idee she wants to git married." The speaker was a venerable
darkey, who stood twirling his rimless hat with a sheepish air in the
probate-office.

"Rather hard for you, Father Abram," said the judge kindly, "but it's a
way girls have. I presume my daughter will be leaving me some day in the
same ungrateful fashion. Bring around Vina's man and I will make out the
license."

Father Abram's manner became at once more confused and ludicrous: he
poised himself alternately on either foot, and scratched his head
vigorously, while his facial expression was something too comical for
description. Finally, through a series of embarrassed chuckles and
gurgles, he rippled into a broad guffaw, articulating indistinctly between
its paroxysms, "Bress de Lord, sah! I'se de man!"

"Shades of the mighty!" exclaimed the judge, in his astonishment dropping
his pen upon a virgin page in his docket. "But the United States is a
Christian country, Abram, and a man can't marry his own daughter here:
it's contrary to law and gospel."

"Yes, sah?" said the negro submissively. "Den dar ain't no way for me an'
Vina to git married, not even if we go over to Platte City? Vina'll be
mightily disappointed."

"Good Heavens! no. 'Twould be a State's prison offence, and I don't see
what ever put such a revolting idea into your head anyway, you
hoary-headed old sinner!"

'"Deed, sah, 'tain't no idee ob mine. I done tole yer dat it was all 'long
ob Vina, but I wouldn't see her outed for a sight" (_outed_ being a negro
expression for displeased). "An' don't yer t'ink, sah, de law might be
changed, jus' for dis one time, or dat Vina an' I could be sent to de
penitentium togedder? It's rather hard on both on us, 'specially on
Vina--'specially as she ain't no more my darter than you be."

"Why didn't you say so before, instead of having all this talk about it? I
don't know whether to believe you now: it is more than likely only a lie
that you have trumped up as a last resort."

"Wish I may die, sah, ef it ain't de honest truf; an' de fus' time dat
ebber I set eyes on Vina war in a slabe-pen in New Orleans eight years
ago, when we war sold to de same marster. Ef Massa John Brown war libbin'
he could prove it to yer; but dar ain't no udder libbin' human 'cept de
slabe-driber--and he war blowed up on his nex' trip up de ribber--dat
knows anyting about it."

Th