When Mrs Null reached the cabin of Aunt Patsy, after about fifteen minutes’ walk, she entered without ceremony, and found the old woman sitting on a very low chair by the window, with the much-talked-of, many-colored quilt in her lap.  Her white woolly head was partially covered with a red and yellow handkerchief, and an immense pair of iron-bound spectacles obstructed the view of her small black face, lined and seamed in such a way that it appeared to have shrunk to half its former size.  In her long, bony fingers, rusty black on the outside, and a very pale tan on the inside, she held a coarse needle and thread and a corner of the quilt.  Near by, in front of a brick-paved fireplace, was one of her great-granddaughters, a girl about eighteen years old, who was down upon her hands and knees, engaged with lungs, more powerful than ordinary bellows, in blowing into flame a coal upon the hearth.

“How d’ye Aunt Patsy?” said Mrs Null.  “I didn’t expect to see you looking so well.”

“Dat’s Miss Null,” said the girl, raising her eyes from the fire, and addressing her ancestor.

The old woman stuck her needle into the quilt, and reached out her hand to her visitor, who took it cordially.

“How d’ye, miss?” said Aunt Patsy, in a thin but quite firm voice, while the young woman got up and brought Mrs Null a chair, very short in the legs, very high in the back, and with its split-oak bottom very much sunken.

“How are you feeling to-day, Aunt Patsy?” asked Mrs Null, gazing with much interest on the aged face.

“‘Bout as common,” replied the old woman.  “I didn’t spec’ to be libin’ dis week, but I ain’t got my quilt done yit, an’ I can’t go ’mong de angels wrop in a shroud wid one corner off.”

“Certainly not,” answered Mrs Null.  “Haven’t you pieces enough to finish it?”

“Oh, yaas, I got bits enough, but de trouble is to sew ’em up.  I can’t sew very fas’ nowadays.”

“It’s a pity for you to have to do it yourself,” said Mrs Null.  “Can’t this young person, your daughter, do it for you?”

“Dat’s not my darter,” said the old woman.  “Dat’s my son Tom’s yaller boy Bob’s chile.  Bob’s dead.  She can’t do no sewin’ for me.  I’m ’not gwine ter hab folks sayin’, Aun’ Patsy done got so ole she can’t do her own sewin’.”

“If you are not going to die till you get your quilt finished, Aunt Patsy,” said Mrs Null, “I hope it won’t be done for a long time.”

“Don’ do to be waitin’ too long, Miss.  De fus’ thing you know some udder culled pusson’ll be dyin’ wrop up in a quilt like dis, and git dar fus’.”

Mrs Null now looked about her with much interest, and asked many questions in regard to the old woman’s comfort and ailments.  To these the answers, though on the whole satisfactory, were quite short, Aunt Patsy, apparently, much preferring to look at her visitor than to talk to her.  And a very pretty young woman she was to look at, with a face which had grown brighter and plumper during every day of her country sojourn.