was stirrin' pootty 'arly dis mornin', an' Miss Marvyn sent me down wid
two or tree little tings."

Setting down her baskets on the floor, and seating herself between
them, she proceeded to develop their contents with ill-concealed
triumph. One basket was devoted to cakes of every species, from the
great Mont-Blanc loaf-cake, with its snowy glaciers of frosting, to the
twisted cruller and puffy doughnut. In the other basket lay pots of
golden butter curiously stamped, reposing on a bed of fresh, green
leaves,--while currants, red and white, and delicious cherries and
raspberries, gave a final finish to the picture. From a basket which
Miss Prissy brought in from the rear appeared cold fowl and tongue
delicately prepared, and shaded with feathers of parsley. Candace,
whose rollicking delight in the good things of this life was
conspicuous in every emotion, might have furnished to a painter, as she
sat in her brilliant turban, an idea for an African Genius of Plenty.

"Why, really, Candace," said Mrs. Scudder, "you are overwhelming us!"

"Ho! ho! ho!" said Candace, "I's tellin' Miss Marvyn folks don't git
married but once in der lives, (gin'ally speakin', dat is,) an' den dey
oughter hab plenty to do it wid."

"Well, I must say," said Miss Prissy, taking out the loaf-cake with
busy assiduity,--"I must say, Candace, this does beat all!"

"I should rader tink it oughter," said Candace, bridling herself with
proud consciousness; "ef it don't, 'ta'n't 'cause ole Candace ha'n't
put enough into it. I tell ye, I didn't do nothin' all day yisterday
but jes' make dat ar cake. Cato, when he got up, he begun to talk