“And they all lived happy ever after,” I said, as the old man reached a full stop.

“Yas, suh,” he said, interpreting my remarks as a question, “dey did.  Solomon useter say,” he added, “dat Aun’ Peggy’s goopher had turnt Mars Jeems ter a nigger, en dat dat noo ban’ wuz Mars Jeems hisse’f.  But co’se Solomon did n’ das’ ter let on ’bout w’at he ’spicioned, en ole Aun’ Peggy would ‘a’ ‘nied it ef she had be’n ax’, fer she ’d ‘a’ got in trouble sho’, ef it ’uz knowed she ‘d be’n cunj’in’ de w’ite folks.

“Dis yer tale goes ter show,” concluded Julius sententiously, as the man came up and announced that the spring was ready for us to get water, “dat w’ite folks w’at is so ha’d en stric’, en doan make no ’lowance fer po’ ign’ant niggers w’at ain’ had no chanst ter l’arn, is li’ble ter hab bad dreams, ter say de leas’, en dat dem w’at is kin’ en good ter po’ people is sho’ ter prosper en git ’long in de worl’.”

“That is a very strange story, Uncle Julius,” observed my wife, smiling, “and Solomon’s explanation is quite improbable.”

“Yes, Julius,” said I, “that was powerful goopher.  I am glad, too, that you told us the moral of the story; it might have escaped us otherwise.  By the way, did you make that up all by yourself?”

The old man’s face assumed an injured look, expressive more of sorrow than of anger, and shaking his head he replied:—­

“No, suh, I heared dat tale befo’ you er Mis’ Annie dere wuz bawn, suh.  My mammy tol’ me dat tale w’en I wa’n’t mo’ d’n knee-high ter a hopper-grass.”

I drove to town next morning, on some business, and did not return until noon; and after dinner I had to visit a neighbor, and did not get back until supper-time.  I was smoking a cigar on the back piazza in the early evening, when I saw a familiar figure carrying a bucket of water to the barn.  I called my wife.

“My dear,” I said severely, “what is that rascal doing here?  I thought I discharged him yesterday for good and all.”

“Oh, yes,” she answered, “I forgot to tell you.  He was hanging round the place all the morning, and looking so down in the mouth, that I told him that if he would try to do better, we would give him one more chance.  He seems so grateful, and so really in earnest in his promises of amendment, that I’m sure you’ll not regret taking him back.”

I was seriously enough annoyed to let my cigar go out.  I did not share my wife’s rose-colored hopes in regard to Tom; but as I did not wish the servants to think there was any conflict of authority in the household, I let the boy stay.

THE CONJURER’S REVENGE

Sunday was sometimes a rather dull day at our place.  In the morning, when the weather was pleasant, my wife and I would drive to town, a distance of about five miles, to attend the church of our choice.  The afternoons we spent at home, for the most part, occupying ourselves with the newspapers and magazines, and the contents of a fairly good library.  We had a piano in the house, on which my wife played with skill and feeling.  I possessed a passable baritone voice, and could accompany myself indifferently well when my wife was not by to assist me.  When these resources failed us, we were apt to find it a little dull.