It happened that on this identical Sunday, Bacchus had (as the best of men will sometimes) got up wrong foot foremost, and not having taken the trouble to go back to bed, and get up again, putting the right foot out first, he continued in the same unhappy state of mind.  He made, as was his wont, a hasty toilet before breakfast.  He wore an old shirt, and a pair of pantaloons that did not reach much above his hips.  One of his slippers had no instep; the other was without a heel.  His grizzly beard made him look like a wild man of the woods; a certain sardonic expression of countenance contributed to this effect.  He planted his chair on its remaining hind leg at the cabin door, and commenced a systematic strain of grumbling before he was fairly seated in it.

“I believe in my soul,” Phillis heard him say, “dat ole Aunt Peggy al’ars gits up wrong on a Sabbath mornin.  Will any one hear her coughin?  My narves is racked a listenin to her.  I don’t see what she wants to live for, and she most a hundred.  I believe its purpose to bother me, Sabbath mornins.  Here, Phillis, who’s this bin here, diggin up my sweet-williams I planted?—­cuss dese children—­”

“The children had nothing to do with it,” said Phillis.  “Master wanted some roots to give to Mr. Kent and he asked me for ’em.  I dug ’em up and they’re all the better for being thinned out.”

“I wish master’d mind his own business, and not be pryin and pilferin ’bout other people’s gardens; givin my flowers to that yallow-headed Abolitioner.  I’ll speak my mind to him about it, any how.”

“You’d better,” said Phillis, drily.

“I will so,” said Bacchus; “I’d rather he’d a burned ’em up.  Kent’s so cussed mean, I don’t b’lieve he’d ’low his flowers ground to grow in if he could help hisself.  If Miss Nannie’d let him, he’d string them niggers of hers up, and wallop their gizzards out of ’em.  I hate these Abolitioners.  I knows ’em,—­I knows their pedigree.”

“Much you know about ’em,” said Phillis, who was shaking the dew drops off her “morning glory.”

“I knows enuff of ’em—­I reckon Miss Nannie do, about dis time.  De ole gentleman did right, any how, when he lef ’em all to her—­if he hadn’t, dat feller would a sold ’em all off to Georgia ’fore this, and a runn’d off wid de money.”

“Well,” said Phillis, “you’d better mind your own affairs; come in and eat your breakfast, if you want any, for I aint going to keep it standin there all day, drawing the flies.”

Bacchus kicked his slippers off and stumbled into a chair beside the table.  “I’ll swar,” said he, after a glance at the fried ham and eggs, “if ever a man had to eat sich cookin as dis.  Why didn’t you fry ’em a little more?” Phillis not minding him, he condescended to eat them all, and to do justice to the meal in general.

“The old fool,” thought Phillis, amused and provoked; “talkin of master’s pilferin—­never mind, I’ve put his ruffled shirt out, and he’ll get in a good humor when he sees it, I reckon.”