and sing low and sweetly in the musical voice of his race. Altogether
such another honeymoon there had never been.

For once the old women hushed up their prophecies of evil, although in
the beginning they had shaken their wise old turbaned heads and
predicted that marriage with such a flighty creature as Viney could
come to no good. They had said among themselves that Ben would better
marry some good, solid-minded, strong-armed girl who would think more
about work than about pleasures and coquetting.

"I 'low, honey," an old woman had said, "she'll mek his heart ache
many a time. She'll comb his haid wid a three-legged stool an' bresh
it wid de broom. Uh, huh--putty, is she? You ma'y huh 'cause she
putty. Ki-yi! She fix you! Putty women fu' putty tricks."

And the old hag smacked her lips over the spice of malevolence in her
words. Some women--and they are not all black and ugly--never forgive
the world for letting them grow old.

But, in spite of all prophecies to the contrary, two months of
unalloyed joy had passed for Ben and Viney, and to-night the climax
seemed to have been reached. Ben hurried along, talking to himself as
his hoe swung over his shoulder.

"Kin I do it?" he was saying. "Kin I do it?" Then he would stop his
walk and his cogitations would bloom into a mirthful chuckle.
Something very pleasant was passing through his mind.

As he approached, Viney was standing in the door of the little cabin,
whose white sides with green Madeira clambering over them made a