“When we got home, she got out, an’ walked up de big walk—­up to de poach by herse’f.  Ole missis hed done fin’ de letter in Marse Chan’s pocket, wid de love in it, while I wuz ‘way, an’ she wuz a-waitin’ on de poach.  Dey sey dat wuz de fust time ole missis cry when she find de letter, an’ dat she sut’n’y did cry over it, pintedly.

“Well, seh, Miss Anne she walks right up de steps, mos’ up to ole missis stan’in’ dyar on de poach, an’ jes’ falls right down mos’ to her, on her knees fust, an’ den flat on her face right on de flo’, ketchin’ at ole missis’ dress wid her two han’s—­so.

“Ole missis stood for ‘bout a minit lookin’ down at her, an’ den she drapt down on de flo’ by her, an’ took her in bofe her arms.

“I couldn’ see, I wuz cryin’ so myse’f, an’ ev’ybody wuz cryin’.  But dey went in arfter a while in de parlor, an’ shet de do’; an’ I heahd ’em say, Miss Anne she tuk de coffin in her arms an’ kissed it, an’ kissed Marse Chan, an’ call ‘im by his name, an’ her darlin’, an’ ole missis lef’ her cryin’ in dyar tell some on ‘em went in, an’ found her done faint on de flo’.

“Judy (she’s my wife) she tell me she heah Miss Anne when she axed ole missis mout she wear mo’nin’ fur ‘im.  I don’ know how dat is; but when we buried ‘im nex’ day, she wuz de one whar walked arfter de coffin, holdin’ ole marster, an’ ole missis she walked next to ’em.

“Well, we buried Marse Chan dyar in de ole grabeyard, wid de fleg wrapped roun’ ‘im, an’ he face lookin’ like it did dat mawnin’ down in de low groun’s, wid de new sun shinin’ on it so peaceful.

“Miss Anne she nuver went home to stay arfter dat; she stay wid ole marster an’ ole missis ez long ez dey lived.  Dat warn’ so mighty long, ’cause ole marster he died dat fall, when dey wuz fallerin’ fur wheat—­I had jes’ married Judy den—­an’ ole missis she warn’ long behine him.  We buried her by him next summer.  Miss Anne she went in de hospitals toreckly arfter ole missis died; an’ jes’ fo’ Richmond fell she come home sick wid de fever.  Yo’ nuver would ‘a’ knowed her fur de same ole Miss Anne.  She wuz light ez a piece o’ peth, an’ so white, ‘cep’ her eyes an’ her sorrel hyar, an’ she kep’ on gittin’ whiter an’ weaker.  Judy she sut’n’y did nuss her faithful.  But she nuver got no betterment!  De fever an’ Marse Chan’s bein’ kilt hed done strain her, an’ she died jes’ fo’ de folks wuz sot free.

“So we buried Miss Anne right by Marse Chan, in a place whar ole missis hed tole us to leave, an’ dey’s bofe on ’em sleep side by side over in de ole grabeyard at home.

“An’ will yo’ please tell me, marster?  Dey tells me dat de Bible sey dyar won’ be marryin’ nor givin’ in marriage in heaven, but I don’ b’lieve it signifies dat—­does you?”

I gave him the comfort of my earnest belief in some other interpretation, together with several spare “eighteen-pences,” as he called them, for which he seemed humbly grateful.  And as I rode away I heard him calling across the fence to his wife, who was standing in the door of a small whitewashed cabin, near which we had been standing for some time: