In vain did Sam go over the startling events of last night to his laughing wife. She admitted the cats in the company room, but the rest of the story she laughed to scorn.
"You fell asleep, you foolish nigger, while I was scatterin' dem tom-cats off dat shed, and you dreamed all de rest," she said; and to satisfy his doubts she made him go into the spare room, which he found neat and tidy, as in Maria's time, the white bed smooth and unrumpled, the two cane-seated chairs standing rigidly against the wall, the small looking-glass on the white-draped toilet-table reflecting his crest-fallen face only, as Poky, standing at the open door, said, jibingly:
"I hope you'se satisfied now! You don't see any babies nor flowers in dere, does you?"
The puzzled dreamer shuffled out with rather a sheepish air, and while he did justice to his morning repast, had to endure a running fire of commentaries on his dream that drove him at last quite out of the house, to escape being the butt of Poky's merry malice.
Presently, while he was sulkily smoking his pipe in the front yard, she came out to him in her check apron, with her sleeves rolled up, and carrying the broom in her brown, shapely hand. With rather a sober air, she said:
"I declare, Sam, I was so tickled at yer foolish dream that I forgot to tell yer what the man said as brought my trunk this mornin'."
"Well?" inquired her sulky spouse.
"Why, it 'pears like a young lady 'bout dis neighborhood drowndid herself las' night."
"Sho!" exclaimed Sam, wonderingly.
"Yes, siree—drowndid herself on account of trubble an' sickness. What made it all de worse was dat she was de beautifulest gal in de country, and had a twin sister ekally beautiful, and dat pore thing is 'most crazy 'bout it all," explained Poky, while Sam eagerly demanded names.