phraseology. Now, to be frank, he had approached Demming prepared to
show severity, rather than sympathy, because of the cracker's last
flagrant wrong-doing; but his indignation, righteous though it was,
took flight before grief. Forgetting judgment in mercy, he proffered
all the consolations he could summon, spiritual and material, and
ended by asking Demming if he had made any preparations for the
funeral.

"Thet thar's w'at I'm yere for," replied the man, mournfully. "You
know jes' how I'm fixed. Cyoffins cost a heap; an' then thar's the
shroud, an' I ain't got no reg'lar fun'al cloze, an' 'pears 's ef 't
'ud be a conserlation t' have a kerridge or two. She wuz a bawn lady,
Bishop; we're kin ter some o' the real aristookracy o' Carolina,--we
are, fur a fac'; an' I'd kin' o' like ter hev her ride ter her own
fun'al, onyhow."

"Then you will need money?"

"Not frum you, Bishop, not a red cent; but if you uns over thar,"
jerking his thumb in the direction of the white pine towers,--"if you
all 'd kin' o' gin me a small sum, an' ef you'd jes' start a paper, as
'twere, an' al-so ef you yo'self 'ud hev the gre't kin'ness ter come
out an' conduc' the fun'al obskesies, it 'ud gratify the corpse
powerful. Mistress Demming'll be entered[A] then like a bawn lady.
Yes, sir, thet thar, an' no mo', 's w'at I'm emboldened ter ax frum
you."

[Footnote A: It is supposed that Mr. Demming intended to say
"interred."]

The Bishop reflected. "Demming," said he, gravely, "I will try to help
you. You have no objection, I suppose, to our buying the coffin and
other things needed. We will pay the bills."

Demming's dejected bearing grew a shade more sombre: he waved his
hand, a gesture very common with him, and usually denoting affable
approval; now it meant gloomy assent. "No objection 't all, Bishop,"
he said. "I knows my weakness, though I don' feel now as ef I'd evah
want ter go on no carousements no mo'. I'm 'bliged ter you uns jes'
the same. An' you won't forget 'bout the cloze? I've been a right good
frien' to th' Norf in Aiken, an' I hope the Norf'll stan' by me in the
hour o' trubbel. Now, Bishop, I'll be gwine 'long. You'll fin' me
at the cyoffin sto'. Mose Barnwell--he's a mighty decent cullud
man--lives nigh me; he's gwine fur ter len' me his cyart ter tek the
cyoffin home. Mahnin', Bishop, an' min', I don' want money outen
_you_. No, sir, I do _not_!"

Then, having waved his hand at his hat, the cracker slouched away.