“You, Jimmy Garner, an’ you, too, William Hill, yuh little imps o’ Satan, what you doin’ in my house? didn’t yo’ mammy tell you not to tamper wid me no mo’?  Git up an’ come here an’ lemme git my co’set off o’ yuh.”

Angry as she was she could not keep from laughing at the sight they presented, as, with no gentle hand, she unclasped the hooks and released their imprisoned bodies.

“Billy all time—­” began Jimmy.

“Billy all time nothin,” said Sarah Jane, “’tain’t no use fo’ to try to lay dis-here co’set business onto Billy; both o’ yuh is ekally in it.  An’ me a-aimin’ fo’ to go to three fun’els dis week an’ a baptizin’ on Sunday.  S’pose y’ all’d bruck one o’ de splints, how’d I look a-presidin’ at a fun’el ‘thout nare co’set on, an’ me shape’ like what I is?”

“Who’s dead, Sarah Jane?” asked Jimmy, hoping to stem the torrent of her wrath.

“Sis’ Mary Ellen’s las’ husban’, Brudder Littlejohn—­dat ’s a-who,” she replied, somewhat mollified at his interest.

“When did he die?”—­Jimmy pursued his advantage.

“He got ’way f’om here ‘bout moon-down las’ night,” she replied, losing sight of her grievance in his flattering interrogations.  “You know Sis’ Littlejohn, she been married goin’ on five times.  Dis-here’ll make fo’ gentlemans she done buriet an’ dey ain’t nobody can manage a fun’el like she kin; ‘pears like hit jes’ come natchel to her.  She sho’ is done a good part by eb’ry single husban’ too, an’ she’s figgerin’ to outdo all the yuthers wid Brudder Littlejohn’s co’pse.”  Sarah Jane almost forgot her little audience in her intense absorption of her subject.  “She say to me dis mornin’, she say, `Marri’ge am a lott’ry, Sis Beddinfiel’, but I sho’ is drawed some han’some prizes.  ’She got ’em all laid out side by side in de buryin’ groun’ wid er little imige on ebry grabe; an.  ‘Sis Mary Ellen, seein’ as she can’t read de writin’ on de tombstones, she got a diff’unt little animal asettin’ on eb’ry head res’ so’s she kin tell which husban’ am which.  Her fus’ husban’ were all time ahuntin’, so she got a little white marble pa’tridge arestin’ on he’ head, an’ hit am a mighty consolement to a po’ widda ‘oman fo’ to know dat she can tell de very minute her eyes light on er grabe which husban’ hit am.  Her secon’ man he got er mighty kinky, woolly head an’ he mighty meek, so she got a little white lamb a-settin’ on he grabe; an’ de nex husban’ he didn’t have nothin’ much fo’ to disgueese him f’om de res’ ‘cep’in’ he so slow an’ she might nigh rack her brain off, twell she happen to think ‘bout him bein’ a Hardshell Baptis’ an’ so powerful slow, so she jest got a little tarrapim an’ sot it on him.  Hit sho’ am a pretty sight jes’ to go in dat buryin’ groun’ an’ look at ’em all, side by side; an’ now she got Brudder Littlejohn to add to de res’.  He de onliest one what’s got er patch o’ whiskers so she gwine to put a little white cat on he’ grabe.  Yes, Lord, ef anythink could pearten’ a widda ‘oman hit would be jes’ to know dat yuh could go to de grabeyard any time yuh want to an’ look at dat han’some c’llection an’ tell ’zactly which am which.”