She smiled—de same smile dat I had seed twixt me an' de worm-eat head-boa'd o' de grave—an' said dat she would be pleased for me ter 'company her. I doan know what I said ter her ez we walked erlong, but I know dat w'en we got ter de little gate in front o' de cabin w'ar her folks libed, she wuz leanin' on my arm. De moon had gone down, an' de flutterin' in de trees in de yard told me dat de mawnin' birds wuz fixin' ter begin dar twitterin'.
"Brudder Summers," said de lady, ez I wuz erbout ter bid her good-bye, "dar 'pears ter be sunthin' on yo' mine."
"Not only on my mine, Sister Frances, but dar is sunthin' on my heart."
I was goin' ter turn erway atter dis, but she put her han' on my arm—de same tremblin' han' dat had teched my heart—an' said:
"Tell me 'bout yo' troubles. Tell me whut is lyin' on yo' heart."
"Er tremblin' han', lady."
"Does you know dat it is er han'?"
"Yas, fur I keen see it in de light o' 'er bright smile."
"Is de han' cold?"