"'Tain' so yer," said Aunt Verbeny feelingly. "'Tain' so yer. Hit seems
like de 'oman nairy a man is laid claim ter ain' wuth claimin'. Ain' dat
so, bro' Ish?"

But Uncle Ish only grunted in retort, his head nodding drowsily. The
tremulous tracery the wood-fire cast upon his face gave it an expression
of dumb intensity which adumbrated all the pathos and the patience of
his race.

"Mahaly wuz er likely gal," went on Aunt Verbeny, "an' when she las'
come home, she wuz a-warin' spike-heeled shoes en er veil uv skeeter
nettin'. 'Tain' so long sence Rhody's Viney went to Philadelphy, too,
but she ain' had no luck sence she wuz born er twin. Hit went clean agin
'er."

"Lord a-mercy, Aunt Verbeny, she ain't a-comin' back dis way?" asked
Betsey, probing the apples with a small pine stick and giving the
softest to Eugenia.

Aunt Verbeny shook her head.

"She ain' never had no luck on er 'count er bein' er twin," she said.
"When she sot herse'f on a-gwine up ter de Yankees, Marse Tom, he tuck
er goose quill en wrote out 'er principles [recommendations] des' es
plain es writin' kin be writ--which ain't plain enough fer my eyes--en
he gun' 'em ter Viney wid his own han's. Viney tuck 'n put 'em safe 'way
down in de bottom uv 'er trunk en went 'long ter de Yankees. But she
ain' been dar mo'n er week when one night she went a-traipsin' out on de
street en lef er principles behint 'er, en, bless yo' life, oner dem ar
Yankees breck right in en stole 'em smack 'way f'om 'er. Yo' trunk is a