'It's a fact, Sally, the Colonel is the d----st busy man in these parts.
Not content with a big plantation and three hundred niggers, he looks
after all South-Carolina, and the rest of creation to boot,' said our
host.

'Tom will have his joke, madam, but he's not far from the truth.'

Seeing we were dripping wet, the lady offered us a change of clothing,
and retiring to a chamber, we each appropriated a suit belonging to our
host, giving our own to a servant to be dried.

Arrayed in the fresh apparel, we soon rejoined our friends in the
sitting-room. The new garments fitted the Colonel tolerably well, but
though none too long, they were a world too wide for me, and, as my wet
hair hung in smooth, flat folds down my cheeks, and my limp shirt-collar
fell over my linsey coat, I looked for all the world like a cross
between a theatrical Aminadab Sleek and Sir John Falstaff, with the
stuffing omitted. When our hostess caught sight of me in this new garb,
she rubbed her hands together in great glee, and, springing to her feet,
gave vent to a perfect storm of laughter--jerking out between the
explosions:

'Why--you--you--look jest like--a scare-crow.'

There was no mistaking that hearty, hoidenish manner; and seizing both
of her hands in mine, I shouted: 'I've found you out--you're a
'country-woman' of mine--a clear-blooded Yankee!'

'What! _you_ a Yankee!' she exclaimed, still laughing, 'and here with
this horrid 'seceshener,' as they call him.'