Suky, mystified and expectant, but complacent over another conquest, made no objections to these whispered “suggestations,” and was led to a seat under the shadow of a tree.  A chorus of not very flattering remarks broke out, ceasing as suddenly when Jeff returned for a portion of the cake and cider.

“Mister Wobbles, yer’s prettin’ on high de airs ter-night,” Suky remarked, with an interrogation point in her voice.

“Here’s ter de health ob Mrs. Wobbles,” he answered, lifting the cider to his lips.

“I’se no ’jections ter dat.  Who is she ter be?” replied Suky, very innocently.

“It’s not my ‘tention ter go furder and far’ wuss.  Dis am a case wha de presen’ company am not ’cepted.”

“No, not axcepted jes’ yet, Mr. Wobbles, if yer’se ‘dressin’ yer remarks ter me.  Yer is goin’ on jes’ a little too far.”

“P’raps a little far; but yer’ll soon catch up wid me.  Yer’se a lady dat got a min’ ob her own, I hope?”

“It’s mine yet, anyhow.”

“An’ yer kin keep as mum as a possum w’en de cawn is in de milk?”

“Dat ’pends.”

“Ob cose it does.  But I’ll trus’ yer; yer ain’ de one ter bite yer own nose off.  Does yer see dat ar ring, Suky?  Law! how pretty dat look on yer degaged finger!”

“‘Tain’ dar yet.”

“Lemme put it dar.  Ki! wouldn’t dey look an’ gape an’ pint in dar yonder w’en yer come a-sailin’ in wid dat ring on?”

“Yes; dey tink me a big fool ter be captivated by a ring—­brass, too, like anuff.”

“No, Suky, it’s gole—­yallow gole, di ’plexion ob yer own fair han’.  But, law! dis ain’ nuffin ter what I’se ’ll git yer.  Yer’se shall hab rings an’ dresses an’ jules till yer ’stinguish de oder gals like de sun put out de stars.”

“What yer foun’, Jeff Wobbles?”

“I’se foun’ what’ll make yer a lady if yer hab sense.  I’se gib yer de compliment ob s’lecting yer ter shar’ my fine if yer’ll lemme put dis ring on yer degaged finger.”

“Yer doan say nuffin ’bout lub in dis yer ’rangement,” Suky simpered, sidling up to him.

“Oh, dat kind ob sent’ment ’ll do fer common niggahs,” Jeff explained with dignity.  “I’se hurd my missus talk ’bout ’liances ’twixt people of quality.  Ki!  Suky, I’se in a’sition now ter make a ‘liance wid yer.  Yer ain’ like dat low gal, Mandy.  What Mister Johnsing ebber hab ter gib her but a lickin’ some day?  I’se done wid dat common class; I may fiddle fur ’em now an’ den, jes’ ter see dem sport deysefs, while I’se lookin’ on kin’ ob s’periur like, yer know.  But den, dey ain’ our kin’ ob folks.  Yer’se got qulities dat’ll shine like de risin’ moon dar.”  Then in a whisper he added, “De Linkum sogers is off dar ter the east’erd.  One night’s trabel an’ dey’d sen’ us on ter Washin’on.  Onst yer git dar, an’ hab all de jules an’ dresses dat I gib yer, dar’s not a culled gemmen dereaway but ’ud bow down ter yer.”