“Hi! didn’t tink o’ dat.”

“Bettah tink right smart, Chunk.  You’se gittin’ top-heaby ef you is sho’t.  Now tell me all ’bout de mar’age.”

“Dey ain’ no mar’age.  Zany tole me how Miss Lou say she ain’ neber ’sent, en den ‘fo’ dey could say dere lingo ober her en mar’y her des ez dey would a bale ob cotton, up rides Marse Scoville en put his so’d troo ebryting.  He tells us we all free en—­”

“En eat yo’ supper.  I ain’ done projeckin’ ’bout dis freedom business.  How we uns gwine ter be free ’less Marse Scoville stay yere en kep us free?”

“Zany guv me my supper en—­”

“Dar now, I ain’ no mo’ ’count.  Zany gobble you aready.  I des stick ter my chimbly corner.”

“Howdy, Aunt Jinkey,” cried Scoville, coming in briskly.  “Well, you see I’m back again as I promised.”

“You welcome, a hun’erd times welcome, kaze you kep my young mistis fum bein’ mar’ed right slap ’gin her own feelin’s ter her cousin.”

“Pshaw!  Aunt Jinkey.  No one can marry a girl against her will in this country.”

“Dat des de question Miss Lou en me projeckin’ ’bout dis berry mawnin’.  She gyardeens went straight along ez ef dey had de po’r, dey sut’ny did.  Dat’s w’at so upset Miss Lou en me.  De po’r ob gyardeens is sump’n I kyant smoke out straight, en I des lak ter know how much dey kin do.  Ole mars’r al’ays manage her prop’ty en we wuz flustrated w’en we see ’im en Mad Whately en he moder en ole miss en all gittin’ ready fer de weddin’ des ez ef hit was comin’ like sun-up sho.”

“It was a shame,” cried Scoville angrily.  “They were seeking to drive her into submission by strong, steady pressure, but if she insisted on her right—­”

“Dat des w’at she did, Marse Scoville.  She say she neber ’sent, neber,” Chunk interrupted.

“Then the whole Southern Confederacy could not have married her and she ought to know it.”

“Well, you mus’ be ’siderate, Marse Scoville.  Miss Lou know a heap ’bout some tings en she des a chile ’bout oder tings.  Ole mars’r en misus al’ays try ter mek her tink dat only w’at dey say is right en nuthin’ else, en dey al’ays ’low ter her dat she gwine ter mar’y her cousin some day, en she al’ays ’low ter me she doan wanter.”

“Poor child! she does need a friend in very truth.  What kind of a man is this Mad Whately anyway, that he could think of taking part in such a wrong?”

“He de same kin’ ob man dat he wuz a boy,” Chunk answered.  “Den he kick en howl till he git w’at he want.  ’Scuse me, Marse Scoville, but I kyant hep tinkin’ you mek big ’stake dat you didn’t jab ’im w’en you hab de chance.”

“Chunk,” was the grave answer, “if you are going to wait on me you must learn my ways.  I’d no more kill a man when it was not essential than I would kill you this minute.  Soldiers are not butchers.”

“Granny sez how you wuz feared on his spook”—­

“Bah! you expect to be free, yet remain slaves to such fears?  My horse knows better.  Come, Aunt Jinkey, I’d rather you would give me some supper than your views on spooks.”