FOLKS FROM DIXIE
The minister did not hear the answer, which was in a low voice and came, he conjectured, from Aunt 'Ca'line'; but the gruff voice subsided, and there was the sound of footsteps going out of the room. A tap came on the preacher's door, and he opened it to the old woman. She smiled reassuringly.
"Dat 'uz my ol' man," she said. "I sont him out to git some wood, so 's I'd have time to post you. Don't you mind him; he 's lots mo' ba'k dan bite. He's one o' dese little yaller men, an' you know dey kin be powahful contra'y when dey sets dey hai'd to it. But jes' you treat him nice an' don't let on, an' I 'll be boun' you 'll bring him erroun' in little er no time."
The Rev. Mr. Dokesbury received this advice with some misgiving. Albeit he had assumed his pleasantest manner when, after his return to the living-room, the little "yaller" man came through the door with his bundle of wood.
He responded cordially to Aunt Caroline's, "Dis is my husband, Brothah Dokesbury," and heartily shook his host's reluctant hand.
"I hope I find you well, Brother Gray," he said.
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