his wrinkled black face as he heard the rapid spank of a shingle, the
scolding tones of an angry voice, and a prolonged howl.

"John Jay an' he gran'mammy 'peah to be havin' a right sma't difference
of opinion togethah this mawnin'," he chuckled.

He shaded his eyes with his stiff, crooked fingers for a better view. A
pair of nimble black legs skipped back and forth across the open
doorway, in a vain attempt to dodge the descending shingle, while a
clatter of falling tinware followed old Mammy's portly figure, as she
made awkward but surprising turns in her wrathful circuit of the crowded
room.

[Illustration: John Jay]

"Ow! I'll be good! I'll be good! Oh, Mammy, don't! You'se a-killin' me!"
came in a high shriek.

Then there was a sudden dash for the cabin door, and an eight-year-old
colored boy scurried down the path like a little wild rabbit, as fast as
his bare feet could carry him. The noise ended as suddenly as it had
begun; so suddenly, indeed, that the silence seemed intense, although
the air was full of all the low twitterings and soft spring sounds that
come with the early days of April.

Uncle Billy stood chuckling over the boy's escape. The situation had
been made clear to him by the angry exclamations he had just overheard.
John Jay, left in charge of the weekly washing, flapping on the line,
had been unfaithful to his trust. A neighbor's goat had taken advantage
of his absence to chew up a pillowcase and two aprons.