“An’ what would I be a doin’,” queried John, suddenly rousing up at the mention of his name.

“Standing still and taking it, I suppose,” said Iola, who had been quietly listening to and enjoying the conversation.

“Yes, an’ I’d ketch myself stan’in’ still an’ takin’ it,” was John’s plucky response.

“Well, you oughter, ef you’s mean enough to wote dat ticket ter put me back inter slavery,” was Aunt Linda’s parting shot.  “Robby,” she continued, “you ’member Miss Nancy’s Jinnie?”

“Of course I do,” said Robert.

“She married Mr. Gundover’s Dick.  Well, dere warn’t much git up an’ go ’bout him.  So, wen ‘lection time com’d, de man he war workin’ fer tole him ef he woted de radical ticket he’d turn him off.  Well, Jinnie war so ‘fraid he’d do it, dat she jis’ follered him fer days.”

“Poor fellow!” exclaimed Robert.  “How did he come out?”

“He certainly was between two fires,” interposed Iola.

“Oh, Jinnie gained de day.  She jis’ got her back up, and said, ’Now ef yer wote dat ticket ter put me back inter slavery, you take yore rags an’ go.’  An’ Dick jis’ woted de radical ticket.  Jake Williams went on de Secesh side, woted whar he thought he’d git his taters, but he got fooled es slick es greese.”

“How was that?” asked Robert.

“Some ob dem folks, dat I ’spects buyed his wote, sent him some flour an’ sugar.  So one night his wife hab company ter tea.  Dey made a big spread, an’ put a lot ob sugar on de table fer supper, an’ Tom jis’ went fer dat sugar.  He put a lot in his tea.  But somehow it didn’t tase right, an’ wen dey come ter fine out what war de matter, dey hab sent him a barrel ob san’ wid some sugar on top, an’ wen de sugar war all gone de san’ war dare.  Wen I yeard it, I jis’ split my sides a larfin.  It war too good to keep; an’ wen it got roun’, Jake war as mad as a March hare.  But it sarved him right.”

“Well, Aunt Linda, you musn’t be too hard on Uncle Jake; you know he’s getting old.”

“Well he ain’t too ole ter do right.  He ain’t no older dan Uncle Dan’el.  An’ I yered dey offered him $500 ef he’d go on dere side.  An’ Uncle Dan’el wouldn’t tech it.  An’ dere’s Uncle Job’s wife; why didn’t she go dat way?  She war down on Job’s meanness.”

“What did she do?”

“Wen ’lection time ‘rived, he com’d home bringing some flour an’ meat; an’ he says ter Aunt Polly, ‘Ole woman, I got dis fer de wote.’  She jis’ picked up dat meat an’ flour an’ sent it sailin’ outer doors, an’ den com’d back an’ gib him a good tongue-lashin’.  ‘Oder people,’ she said, ‘a wotin’ ter lib good, an’ you a sellin’ yore wote!  Ain’t you got ’nuff ob ole Marster, an’ ole Marster bin cuttin’ you up?  It shan’t stay yere.’  An’ so she wouldn’t let de things stay in de house.”

“What did Uncle Job do?”

“He jis’ stood dere an’ cried.”

“And didn’t you feel sorry for him?” asked Iola.