“Sadd’y.”

M. Xaupi’s ball had been on Thursday evening. That night the cholera had broken out. He had lain in his drunken stupor ever since. Their talk had lasted but a minute, but she looked up anxiously and urged him.

“D’ ain’ no time to was’e, honey! D’ ain’ no time to was’e. I done got dis cyart to tek you ’way in, en I be ready to start in a minute. Put yo’ clo’es on en bring de bun’le wid all yo’ yudder things in it.”

With incredible activity she climbed into the cart and began to roll up the bedclothes. In reality she had made up her mind to put him into the cart, and the pallet had been made for him to lie and finish his drunken sleep on, while she drove him away to a place of safety.

Still he did not move from the window-sill. He was thinking of Harry Sikes, who had shaved him many a time for nothing. Then he suddenly called down to her:

“Have many died of the cholera? Are there many cases in town?”

She went on with her preparations and took no notice of him. He repeated the question. She got down quickly from the cart and began to mount the staircase. He went back to bed, pulled the sheet up over him, and propped himself up among the pillows. Her soft, heavy footsteps slurred on the stairway as though her strength were failing, and as soon as she entered the room she sank into a chair, overcome with terror. He looked at her with a sudden sense of pity.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said, kindly. “It might only make it the worse for you,”

“I can’t he’p it, honey,” she answered, wringing her hands and rocking herself to and fro; “de ole niggah can’ he’p it. If de Lohd jes spah me to git out’n dis town wid you! Honey, ain’ you able to put on yo’ clo’es?”

“You’ve tied them all up in the sheet.”

“De Lohd he’p crazy old niggah!”

She started up and tugged at the bundle, and laid out a suit of his clothes, if things so incongruous could be called a suit.

“Have many people died of the cholera?”

“Dey been dyin’ like sheep ’ev since yestidd’y mohnin’—all day, en all las’ night, en dis mohnin’! De man he done lock up de huss, en dey been buryin’ ’em in cyarts. En de grave-diggah he done run away, en hit look like d’ ain’ nobody to dig de graves.”

She bent over the bundle, tying again the four corners of the sheet. Through the window came the sound of the quick hammers driving nails. She threw up her arms into the air, and then seizing the bundle dragged it rapidly to the door.

“You heah dat? Dey nailin’ up cawfins in de lumbah-yahd! Put on yo’ clo’es, honey, en come on.”

A resolution had suddenly taken shape in his mind.

“Go on away and save your life. Don’t wait for me; I’m not going. And good-bye, Aunt Charlotte, in case I don’t see you any more. You’ve been very kind to me—kinder than I deserved. Where have you put my mattock and spade?”