"Well, who'd a tink dat ar civil, nice spoken young man was de son ob dat ole sinner Houghton. Beckon Missy Mara doan like you'se talkin' wid him at Mis Wil'by's."
"Of course not. He's a Northern Vandal, you know."
"Dunno notin' 'bout Wandals. I jedge folks by wot dey is deysefs. He couldn't help bein' bawn at de Norf. Long as he 'habe himself, wot dat agin him?"
"Being born at the North is a crime, some people think."
"Yes,—I know, but dat ar suttingly fool talk. Dat ain't de trouble so much in dis case. It's cause he's dat ole 'tankerous Houghton's son."
"He isn't to blame for that either," Ella answered, hotly.
"Lor', Missy Ella! how you stan' up fer 'im."
"I don't believe in injustice, Aun' Sheba," said Ella quietly, conscious meanwhile that her cheeks were getting very red.
"De heat am po'ful," Aun' Sheba remarked, sententiously. Then her plump form began to shake with mirth. "Dar now, Missy Ella," she added, "de blin' ole woman kin see as fur in de grin-stone as de next one. He'd stan' up fer you agin de hull worl. It shines right out in his 'ansome face."
"How very blind you are, Aun' Sheba! Why, he's not fit to be spoken to, and I'm not to speak to him again as long as I live. Good-by. Good-by, Uncle Sheba. I've heard that sawing wood was the best cure for rheumatism known;" and she flitted out of the dusky cabin like a tropical bird.