She took the ash-cake out of the ashes, slapped it first on one side, then on the other, with her hand, dusted it with her apron, and walked to the door and poured a gourd of water from the piggin over it.  Then she divided it in half; one half she set up against the side of the chimney, the other she broke up into smaller pieces and distributed among the children, dragging the sleeping Eph, limp and soaked with sleep, from the cradle to receive his share.  Her manner was not rough—­ was perhaps even tender—­but she used no caresses, as a white woman would have done under the circumstances.  It was only toward the baby at the breast that she exhibited any endearments.  Her nearest approach to it with the others was when she told them, as she portioned out the ash-cake, “Mammy ain’t got nuttin else; but ntiver min’, she gwine have plenty o’ good meat next year, when deddy done pay for he land.”

“Hi! who dat out dyah?” she said, suddenly.  “Run to de do’, son, an’ see who dat comin’,” and the whole tribe rushed to inspect the new-comer.

It was, as she suspected, her husband, and as soon as he entered she saw that something was wrong.  He dropped into a chair, and sat in moody silence, the picture of fatigue, physical and mental.  After waiting for some time, she asked, indifferently.  “What de matter?”

“Dat man.”

“What he done do now?” The query was sharp with suspicion.

“He say he ain’ gwine let me have my land.”

“He’s a half-strainer,” said the woman, with sudden anger.  “How he gwine help it?  Ain’ you got crap on it?” She felt that there must be a defence against such an outrage.

“He say he ain’ gwine wait no longer; dat I wuz to have tell Christmas to finish payin’ for it, an’ I ain’ do it, an’ now he done change he min’.”

“Tell dis Christmas comin’,” said his wife, with the positiveness of one accustomed to expound contracts.

“Yes; but I tell you he say he done change he min’.”  The man had evidently given up all hope; he was dead beat.

“De crap’s yourn,” said she, affected by his surrender, but prepared only to compromise.

“He say he gwine teck all dat for de rent, and dat he gwine drive Ole ’Stracted ’way too.”

“He ain’ nuttin but po’ white trash!” It expressed her supreme contempt.

“He say he’ll gi’ me jes one week mo’ to pay him all he ax for it,” continued he, forced to a correction by her intense feeling, and the instinct of a man to defend the absent from a woman’s attack, and perhaps in the hope that she might suggest some escape.

“He ain’ nuttin sep po’ white trash!” she repeated.  “How you gwine raise eight hundred dollars at once?  Dee kyarn nobody do dat.  Gord mout!  He ain’ got good sense.”

“You ain’ see dat corn lately, is you?” he asked.  “Hit jes as rank!  You can almos’ see it growin’ ef you look at it good.  Dat’s strong land.  I know dat when I buy it.”