quality en de trash. Ole Miss, she des' pint out der place en dey stay
dar. She ain' never stomach noner der high-ferlutin' doin's roun' her.
She know whar she b'long en she know whar dey b'long. Bless yo' life,
Ole Miss wuz dat perticklar she wouldn't drink arter Ole Marster,
hisself, 'thout renchin' out de gow'd twel t'wuz mos' bruck off de
handle."

He sighed and shifted his bag.

"Ef Ole Miss 'ud been yer thoo' dis las' war, dar wouldn't er been no
slue-footed Yankees a-foolin' roun' her parlour. She'd uv up en show'd
'em de do'--"

"Are all Yankees slue-footed, Uncle Ish?"

"All dose I seed, honey--des' es slue-footed. En dar wuz Miss Chris' en
ole Miss Grissel a-makin' up ter 'em, en a-layin' out er demselves fer
'em en a-spreadin' uv de table, des' de same es ef dey went straight on
dey toes. Dar wan't much sense in dat ar war, nohow, an' I ain' never
knowed yit what 'twuz dey fit about. Hit wuz des' a-hidin' en a-teckin'
ter de bushes, en a-hidin' agin, en den a-feastin', en a-curtsin' ter de
Yankees. Dar wan't no sense in it, no ways hits put, but Ise heered
Marse Tom 'low hit wuz a civil war, en dat's what it wuz. When de
Yankees come a-ridin' up en a-reinin' in dere hosses befo' de front
po'ch, en Miss Chris come out a-smilin' en a-axin' howdy, en den dey
stan' dar a-bowin' en a-scrapin', hit wuz des' es civil es ef dey'd come
a-co'tin'. But Ole Miss wuz dead en buried, she wuz."

Nicholas shook his head without speaking. There was a shade of
consolation in the thought that the awful "Ole Miss" was below the earth