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“Well, I don’t know,” observed Mrs. Meriwether. “My son told me a week ago that she was sick. Did she get well?”

The old man shook his head solemnly.

“No, ‘m; but she went mighty easy. Marse Douglas he eased her off. He is the bes’ doctor I ever see to let ’em die easy.”

Mingled with her horror at his cold-blooded recital, a smile flickered about Mrs. Meriwether’s mouth at this shot at her son, the doctor; but the old man looked absolutely innocent.

“Why did n ‘t you send for the doctor again?” she demanded.

“Well, m’m, I gin her two chances. I think dat was ‘nough. I wuz right fond o’ Sairey; but I declar’ I ‘d rather lost Sairey than to broke.”

“You would!” Mrs. Meriwether sat up and began to bristle. “Well, at least, you have the expense of her funeral; and I ‘m glad of it,” she asserted with severity.

“Dat ‘s what I come over t’ see you ’bout. I ‘m gwine to give Sairey a fine fun’ral. I want you to let yo’ cook cook me a cake an’–one or two more little things.”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Meriwether, relenting somewhat; “I will tell her to do so. I will tell her to make you a good cake. When do you want it?”

“Thank you m’m. Yes, m’m; ef you ‘ll gi’ me a right good-sized cake–an’–a loaf or two of flour-bread–an’–a ham, I ‘ll be very much obleeged to you. I heah she ‘s a mighty good cook?”

“She is,” said Mrs. Meriwether; “the best I ‘ve had in a long time.” She had not caught the tone of interrogation in his voice, nor seen the shrewd look in his face, as I had done. Jabez appeared well satisfied.

“I ‘m mighty glad to heah you give her sech a good character; I heahed you ‘d do it. I don’ know her very well.”

Mrs. Meriwether looked up quickly enough to catch his glance this time.

“Jabez–I know nothing about her character,” she began coldly. “I know she has a vile temper; but she is an excellent cook, and so long as she is not impudent to me, that is all I want to know.”

Jabez bowed approvingly.

“Yes, ‘m; dat ‘s right. Dat ‘s all I want t’ know. I don’ keer nothin’ ’bout de temper; atter I git ’em, I kin manage ’em. I jist want t’ know ’bout de char-acter, dat ‘s all. I did n’ know her so well, an’ I thought I ‘d ax you. I tolt her ef you ‘d give her a good char-acter, she might suit me; but I ‘d wait fer de cake–an‘ de ham.”

His mistress rose to her feet.

“Jabez, do you mean that you have spoken to that woman already!”

“Well, yes, ‘m; but not to say speak to her. I jes kind o’ mentioned it to her as I ‘d inquire as to her char-acter.”

“And your wife has been gone–how long! Two days!”

“Well, mist’is, she ‘s gone fer good, ain’t she!” demanded Jabez. “She can’t be no mo’ gone!”

“You are a wicked, hardened old sinner!” declared the old lady, vehemently.

“Nor, I ain’t, mist’is; I clar’ I ain’t,” protested Jabez, with unruffled front.

“You treat your wives dreadfully.”

“Nor, I don’t, mist’is. You ax ’em ef I does. Ef I did, dee would n’ be so many of ’em anxious t’ git me. Now, would dee? I can start in an’ beat a’ one o’ dese young bloods aroin’ heah, now.” He spoke with pride.

“I believe that is so, and I cannot understand it. And before one of them is in her grave you are courting another. It is horrid–an old–Methuselah like you.” She paused to take breath, and Jabez availed himself of the pause.

“Dat ‘s de reason I got t’ do things in a kind o’ hurry–I ain’ no Methuselum. I got no time t’ wait.”

“Jabez,” said Mrs. Meriwether, seriously, “tell me how you manage to fool all these women.”

The old man pondered for a moment.

“Well, I declar,’ mist’is, I hardly knows how. Dee wants to be fooled. I think it is becuz dee wants t’ see what de urrs marry me fer, an’ what dee done lef’ me. Woman is mighty curi-some folk.”

I have often wondered since if this was really the reason.