“Mars Sam nodded his head, but didn’ say nothin’.

“‘I don’ need ter tell you,’ says she,’ dat I am willin’ ter carry out de wishes er my dead sister, an’ sac’ifice my own comfo’t, an’ make myse’f yo’ housekeeper an’ yo’ child’s nuss, fer my dear sister’s sake.  It wuz her dyin’ wish, an’ on it I will ac’, ef it is also yo’n.’

“Mars Sam didn’ want Mis’ Polly ter come, suh; fur he didn’ like Mis’ Polly.  He wuz skeered er Miss Polly.”

“I don’t wonder,” yawned the doctor, “if she was anything like she is now.”

“Wuss, suh, fer she wuz younger, an’ stronger.  She always would have her say, no matter ‘bout what, an’ her own way, no matter who ’posed her.  She had already be’n in de house fer a week, an’ Mars Sam knowed ef she once come ter stay, she’d be de mist’ess of eve’ybody in it an’ him too.  But w’at could he do but say yas?

“‘Den it is unde’stood, is it,’ says Mis’ Polly, w’en he had spoke, ’dat I am ter take cha’ge er de house?’

“‘All right, Polly,’ says Mars Sam, wid a deep sigh.

“Mis’ Polly ‘lowed he wuz sighin’ fer my po’ dead mist’ess, fer she didn’ have no idee er his feelin’s to’ds her,—­she alluz did ’low dat all de gent’emen wuz in love wid ’er.

“‘You won’ fin’ much ter do,’ Mars Sam went on, ’fer Julia is a good housekeeper, an’ kin ten’ ter mos’ eve’ything, under yo’ d’rections.’

“Mis’ Polly stiffen’ up like a ramrod.  ‘It mus’ be unde’stood, Samuel,’ says she, ’dat w’en I ‘sumes cha’ge er yo’ house, dere ain’ gwine ter be no ’vided ‘sponsibility; an’ as fer dis Julia, me an’ her couldn’ git ‘long tergether nohow.  Ef I stays, Julia goes.’

“Wen Mars Sam beared dat, he felt better, an’ ‘mence’ ter pick up his courage.  Mis’ Polly had showed her ban’ too plain.  My mist’ess hadn’ got col’ yit, an’ Mis’ Polly, who’d be’n a widder fer two years dis las’ time, wuz already fig’rin’ on takin’ her place fer good, an’ she did n! want no other woman roun’ de house dat Mars Sam might take a’ intrus’ in.

“‘My dear Polly,’ says Mars Sam, quite determine’, ‘I couldn’ possibly sen’ Julia ‘way.  Fac’ is, I couldn’ git ’long widout Julia.  She’d be’n runnin’ dis house like clockwo’k befo’ you come, an’ I likes her ways.  My dear, dead ‘Liz’beth sot a heap er sto’ by Julia, an’ I’m gwine ter keep her here fer ‘Liz’beth’s sake.’

“Mis’ Polly’s eyes flash’ fire.

“‘Ah,’ says she,’ I see—­I see!  You perfers her housekeepin’ ter mine, indeed!  Dat is a fine way ter talk ter a lady!  An’ a heap er rispec’ you is got fer de mem’ry er my po’ dead sister!’

“Mars Sam knowed w’at she ‘lowed she seed wa’n’t so; but he didn’ let on, fer it only made him de safer.  He wuz willin’ fer her ter ’magine w’at she please’, jes’ so long ez she kep’ out er his house an’ let him alone.

“‘No, Polly,’ says he, gittin’ bolder ez she got madder, ‘dere ain’ no use talkin’.  Nothin’ in de worl’ would make me part wid Julia.’