Tumlin, an' dey ain't nothin' fer ter hender you fum gwine in dar
an' makin' 'im feel at home whiles he waitin'.' She sorter study
awhile, an' den she blush up. She say, 'I dunno whedder I ought ter.'

"Well, suh, dat settled it. I know'd by de way she look an' talk dat
she don't need no mo' 'swadin'. I say, 'All right, honey, do ez you
please; but it's yo' house; you er de mist'iss; an' it'll look mighty
funny ef dat young man got ter set in dar by hisse'f an' look at de
wall whiles he waitin' fer Marse Tumlin. I dunner what he'll say, kaze
I ain't never hear 'im talk 'bout nobody; but I know mighty well he'll
do a heap er thinkin'.'

"Des like I tell you, suh--she skipped 'roun' dar, an' flung on 'er
Sunday frock, shuck out 'er curls, an' sorter fumble' 'roun' wid some
ribbons, an' dar she wuz, lookin' des ez fine ez a fiddle, ef not
finer. Den she swep' inter de parlor, an', you mayn't blieve it, suh,
but she mighty nigh tuck de man's breff 'way. Mon, she wuz purty, an'
she ain't do no mo' like deze eve'y-day gals dan nothin'. When she
start 'way fum me, she wuz a gal. By de time she walk up de hall an'
sweep in dat parlor, she wuz a grown 'oman. De blush what she had on
at fust stayed wid 'er an' look like 't wuz er natchual color, an' her
eyes shine, suh, like she had fire in um. I peeped at 'er, suh, fum
behime de curtains in de settin'-room, an' I know what I'm talkin'
'bout. It's de Lord's trufe, suh, ef de men folks could tote derse'f
like de wimmen, an' do one way whiles dey feelin' annuder way, dey
wouldn't be no livin' in de worl'. You take a school gal, suh, an' she
kin fool de smartest man what ever trod shoe leather. He may talk wid
'er all day an' half de night, an' he never is ter fin' out what she
thinkin' 'bout. Sometimes de gals fools deyse'f, suh, but dat's mighty
seldom.

"I dunner what all dey say, kaze I ain't been in dar so mighty long
'fo' I wuz nodding but I did hear Marse Paul say he des drapt in fer
'pollygize 'bout a little joke he played on Marse Tumlin. Miss Vallie
ax what wuz de joke, an' he low dat Marse Tumlin wuz banterin' folks
fer ter buy his wil' lan'; an' Marse Paul ax 'im what he take fer it,
an' Marse Tumlin low he'll take anything what he can chaw, sop, er
drink. Dem wuz de words---chaw, sop, er drink. Wid dat, Marse Paul
say he'd gi' 'im a box er terbarker, a bairl er syr'p, an' a kaig er
peach brandy an' th'ow in his buggy-hoss fer good medjer. Marse Tom