"And dat's my husband's mother's bonnet. It use to be as pretty a black
as you ever see. It's faded brown now. It was dyed wid walnut."

The chest yielded up old cotton cards, and horns that had been used to
call the slaves. Finally the "robe-tail muslin" came to light. The soft
material, so fragile with age that a touch sufficed to reduce it still
further to rags, was made with a full skirt and plain waist, and still
showed traces of a yellow color and a sprigged design.

"My husband was Kinchen Rogers. His marster was Mr. Bill Golden, and he
live 'bout fo' mile from where I stayed on de Hart plantation."

"Aunt Ferebe, how did you meet your husband?"

"Well, you see, us slaves went to de white folks church a-Sunday.
Marster, he was a prim'tive Baptis', and he try to keep his slaves from
goin' to other churches. We had baptisin's fust Sundays. Back in dem
days dey baptised in de creek, but at de windin' up o' freedom, dey dug
a pool. I went to church Sundays, and dat's where I met my husband. I
been ma'ied jes' one time. He de daddy o' all my chillen'. (I had
fifteen in all.)"

"Who married you, Aunt Ferebe. Did you have a license?"

"Who ever heered a nigger havin' a license?" and she rocked with
high-pitched laughter.

"Young marster was fixin' to ma'y us, but he got col' feet, and a
nigger by name o' Enoch Golden ma'ied us. He was what we called a