parishes, where the man roamed at will, having been bought of the trader by the gentleman who owned him, for a small price, on account of his infirmity. “Is you gwine in dyah?” asked the woman, as they approached the hut.

“Hi! yes; ’tain’ nuttin’ gwine hu’t you; an’ you say Ephum say he be layin’ in de baid?” he replied, his mind having evidently been busy on the subject.

“An’ mighty comical,” she corrected him, with exactness born of apprehension.

“Well? I ’feared he sick.”

“I ain’ nuver been in dyah,” she persisted.

“Ain’ de chil’n been in dyah?”

“Dee say ’stracted folks oon hu’t chil’n.”

“Dat ole man oon hu’t nobody; he jes tame as a ole tomcat.”

“I wonder he ain’ feared to live in dat lonesome ole house by hisself. I jes lieve stay in a graveyard at once. I ain’ wonder folks say he sees sperrits in dat hanty-lookin’ place.” She came up by her husband’s side at the suggestion. “I wonder he don’ go home.”

“Whar he got any home to go to sep heaven?” said Ephraim.

“What was you mammy name, Ephum?”

“Mymy,” said he, simply.

They were at the cabin now, and a brief pause of doubt ensued. It was perfectly dark inside the door, and there was not a sound. The bench where they had heretofore held their only communication with their strange neighbour was lying on its side in the weeds which grew up to the very walls of the ruinous cabin, and a lizard suddenly ran over it, and with a little rustle disappeared under the rotting ground-sill. To the woman it was an ill omen. She glanced furtively behind her, and moved nearer her husband’s side. She noticed that the cloud above the pines was getting a faint yellow tinge on its lower border, while it was very black above them. It filled her with dread, and she was about to call her husband’s notice to it, when a voice within arrested their attention. It was very low, and they both listened in awed silence, watching the door meanwhile as if they expected to see something supernatural spring from it.

“Nem min’—jes wait—’tain so long now—he’ll be heah torectly,” said the voice. “Dat’s what he say—gwine come an’ buy me back—den we gwine home.”

In their endeavour to catch the words they moved nearer, and made a slight noise. Suddenly the low, earnest tone changed to one full of eagerness. “Who dat?” was called in sharp inquiry.

“’Tain’ nobody but me an’ Polly, Ole ’Stracted,” said Ephraim, pushing the door slightly wider open and stepping in. They had an indistinct idea that the poor deluded creature had fancied them his longed-for loved ones, yet it was a relief to see him bodily.

“Who you say you is?” inquired the old man feebly.

“Me an’ Polly.”

“I done bring you shut home,” said the woman, as if supplementing her husband’s reply. “Hit all bran’ clean, an’ I done patch it.”