The Wheeling Daily Intelligencer

of the congregation, closely pursued by a small black boy, whose face wore a decidedly jubilant expression.

"H'yar's yer hogs, Aunt Sylvie," he cried, as the old woman started from her seat in surprise and uttered a loud exclamation. "I foun' 'em down in Mr. Jackson's 'tater patch, rootin' roun' like mad. Dey'd bus' 'frough do fence, an' I reckons dey's 'bout spiled dat 'tater crap."

Aunt Sylvie's face was a study. Chagrin was plainly painted on it.

She turned to Brother Jackson.

"Ef you railly 'spects me ter fall on yer neck like do Prodigal Son, and ask you ter forgib me, you's countin' out'n do way consid'able," she said, stiffly. "But I'se free ter own I'se been in do wrong, dough from fus' ter las' I nebah 'cused nobody."

"I tries ter be a follerer in de straignt an' narrer path," said Brother Jackson, meekly, "an' I don't b'ar no malice 'gainst Sister Mack, But I hopes do brudders an' sistors c'lected y'yar dis ebenin' will 'gree wid me dat a 'quiry meetin's necessary ter settle de questions ob damages ter my tater crap."

"Dat's all foolishness," said Aunt Sylvie. "Hogs is hogs do worl' ober, an is boun' ter git inter tater patches ef dey kin. An dough I don' 'cuse Brother Jackson ob lazin'pas, I mus' say as ha do'n keep his fences any too tight. But I ain'c one of dese u'yar stubborn folks dat wou' see no sense, an' of you choose ter call on me ter-morrer we'll talk de matter ober peaceable."

"I accepts do invitation in de sperit dat it's offered," said Brother Jackson; and the inquiry meeting broke up at once, Aunt Sylvie, with the aid of the small boy, driving the pigs from the church and turning their heads homeward.

A week later, when Miss Sophie, surprised by company to tea, went to Aunt Sylvie's for spring chickens, she found the old woman tricked out with long earrings, a yellow bead necklace, and a new turban.

"You look unusually fine, Aunt Sylvie," she said. "What is going to happen? One would imagine you were dressed for a wedding."

"You's 'bout right chile. I is gwine ter a weddin'"

"And how are the hogs?" inquired Sophie, smiling.

"Dey's tol'ble well, thank'y, Miss."

"The potatoes didn't prove too much for them then. I'm glad of that," said Sophie facetiously. "But how have you settled with Tony about the damages he wanted?"

"Ob, dere aint no hard feolin's either side now. Mr. Jackson and me's ckalized dat horg business widout 'pealin ter do 'ciety."

"Equalized it?"

"Yas," and Aunt Sylvie examined her shining new shoes in an embarrassed manner. "We's come ter terms—such as dey is. He's 'suaded me to marry 'im. He says he am all alone an' no 'oman ter take k'yar ob 'im, an' it 'peared like it wa' de bes' way ter ekalize do hogs an de tatere. But de trufe is," sinking her voice confidentially, "he wanted dose hogs, an' he was boun' ter hab 'em."