"Thar ain't nobody but the niggers livin' down by Whistling Spring."
"I'm going down to see Aunt Mehitable Green. She nursed Ma when she was sick."
"I recollect her." Old Matthew wagged again. "She conjured some liver spots off the face of my son's wife. They used to say she was the best conjure woman anywhar round here."
"I know the darkeys are still afraid of her," Dorinda returned. "But she was good to me when I was little, and I don't believe anything bad about her."
"Mebbe not, mebbe not," old Matthew assented. "Anyhow, if she's got a gift with moles an' warts, thar can't nobody blame her fur practisin' it. How's yo' weddin' gittin' on, honey? By this time next week you'll be an old married woman, won't you?"
Dorinda blushed. "It's hard for me to realize it."
"Jason's gone away, ain't he?"
"Yes, he went to New York to buy some instruments."
"It's a mortal wonder his Pa let him. I hear he keeps as tight a rein on him as if he'd never growed up. Wall, wall, he didn't ax the advice of eighty-odd years. But, mark my words, he'll live to regret the day he come back to Five Oaks."
"But what else could he do?" the girl protested loyally. "His father needed him."