speshul great gif', but she's kind o' handy wen a body's sick."

"You don't seem to care so much for gifted women in a sick-room,
Thomas?" I remarked, somewhat mischievously, after I had summoned his
wife from down-stairs.

"Well, naw, seh," a little shamefacedly. "Not so much. You see, seh,
dey--dey's mos' too much fu' a body, sich times. Dey _will_ talk, you'se
dey will, an' 'livah 'scouhcis, an' a sick man he hain't got de strenth
to--to supplicate in kine, an' hit kind o' mawtifies him, seh."

Once more there followed a silence, when I asked:

"Thomas, why didn't you give up those papers to the mob, when they
attacked you last night? Your retaining them might have cost you your
life. I didn't mean you to endanger your life for them."

He smiled slightly, as his glance met mine.

"I dunno, seh," he replied, with his old reflective air. "You tole me
mos' pehticaleh to hole on to 'um, an' 'twouldn't be doin' my duty
faithful to let 'um go 's long ez I could hole on to 'um."

"But suppose they had killed you?"

"Well, Mist' Dunkin, ef dey had, I hope I'd been ready to go. I ben
tryin' to lead a godly an' Chris'chun life, ez Scripcheh sez, fu' fawty
yeahs, now, an' I hope I'd a foun' dyin' grace at de las'. You see, seh,
thing hoped me mos' was de thoughts of a tex' Bro' Moss preached on las'
Sund'y; 'peached like hit hep' on jinglin' in my hade all time dey was