"Well; it wasn't de ting, was it? And I knew I'd be read out; oh, but it was so nice! I'll never have no more dancing now. I've just taken up with a class now, you know, since he's gone."
"Taken up with a class?"
"Yes; I teaches the nigger children; and I has a card for the minister. I got four dollars last week, and you must give me something."
Now I hate Baptists—as she did her lover—like poison; and even under such pressure as this I could not bring myself to aid in their support.
"You very stingy man! Caspar Isaacs"—he was her lost lover—"gave me a dollar."
"But perhaps you gave him a kiss."
"Perhaps I did," said she. "But you may be quite sure of this, quite; I'll never give him anoder," and she again slapped one hand upon the other, and compressed her lips, and gently shook her head as she made the declaration, "I'll never give him anoder kiss—dat's sure as fate."
I had nothing further to say, and began to feel that I ought not to detain the lady longer. We sat together, however, silent for a while, and then she arose and spoke to me standing. "I'se in a reg'lar difficulty now, however; and it's just about that I am come to ask you."
"Well, Josephine, anything that I can do to help you—"
"'Tain't much; I only want your advice. I'se going to Kingston, you see."