"I dunno, suh; hit dess look dat-a-way to me, suh."
"You're a fool," I said, sharply.
"No, suh, I ain' no fool, Mars' George. I done see de sign! Yaas, suh, I done see de sign."
"What sign?"
The old man chuckled, looked slyly at my left hand, then chuckled again.
"Mars' George, yo' is wearin' yo' weddin'-ring now!"
"A ring! There is no ring on my hand, you rascal!" I said.
"Yaas, suh; dey sho' is, Mars' George," he insisted, still chuckling.
"I tell you I never wear a ring," I said, impatiently.
"'Scuse me, Mars' George, suh," he said, humbly. And, lifting my left hand, laid it in his wrinkled, black palm, peering closely. I also looked, and saw at the base of my third finger a circle like the mark left by a wedding-ring.