“Wot you gwine to do?” asked Isham.

“I’s gwine ter speak my min’ to ole miss.  I’s gwine to tell her not to do no kunjerin’ to Miss Annie’s husban’.  She gwine to hurt dat little gal more’n she hurt anybody else.”

Old Isham sat looking into the fire with a very worried and anxious expression on his face.  He was intensely loyal to his mistress, aware as he was of her short-comings, or rather her long-goings.  Although he felt a good deal of fear that there might be some truth in Aunt Patsy’s words, he was very sure that if she took it upon herself to give warning or reproof to old Mrs Keswick, a storm would ensue; and where the lightning would strike he did not know.  “You better look out, Aun’ Patsy,” he said.  “You an’ ole miss been mighty good fren’s fur a pow’ful long time, an’ now don’ you go gittin’ yourse’f in no fraction wid her, jus’ as you’ bout to die.”

“Ain’t gwine to die,” said the old woman, “till I done tole her wot’s on my min’.”

“Aun’ Patsy,” said Uncle Isham, after gazing silently in the fire for a minute or two, “dar was a brudder wot come up from ’Melia County to de las’ big preachin’, an’ he tole in his sarment a par’ble wot I b’lieve will ’ply fus rate to dis ’casion.  I’s gwine to tell you dat.”

“Go ’long wid it,” said Aunt Patsy.

“Well, den,” said Isham, “dar was once a cullud angel wot went up to de gate ob heaben to git in.  He didn’t know nuffin’ ’bout de ways ob de place, bein’ a strahnger, an’ when he see all de white angels a crowdin’ in at de gate where Sent Peter was a settin’, he sorter looked round to see if dar warn’t no gate wot he might go in at.  Den ole Sent Peter he sings out:  ’Look h’yar, uncle, whar you gwine?  Dar ain’t no cullud gal’ry in dis ’stablishment.  You’s got to come in dis same gate wid de udder folks.’  So de cullud angel he come up to de gate, but he kin’ a hung back till de udders had got in.  Jus’ den ’long comes a white angel on hossback, wot was in a dreffle hurry to git in to de gate.  De cullud angel, he mighty p’lite, an’ he went up an’ tuk de hoss, an’ when de white angel had got down an’ gone in, he went roun’ lookin’ fur a tree to hitch him to.  But when he went back agin to de gate, Sent Peter had jus’ shet it, and was lockin’ it up wid a big padlock.  He jus’ looks ober de gate at de cullud angel an’ he says:  ’No ’mittance ahfter six o’clock.’  An’ den he go in to his supper.”

“An’ wot dat cullud angel do den?” asked Eliza, who had been listening breathlessly to this narrative.

“Dunno,” said Isham, “but I reckin de debbil come ‘long in de night an’ tuk him off.  Dar’s a lesson in dis h’yar par’ble wot ’ud do you good to clap to your heart, Aun’ Patsy.  Don’ you be gwine roun’ tryin’ to help udder people jus’ as you is all ready to go inter de gate ob heaben.  Ef you try any ob dat dar foolishness, de fus’ thing you know you’ll find dat gate shet.”

“Is dat your ’Melia County par’ble?” asked the old woman.