NELSE was informed by the Agent of the Freedman’s Bureau when summoned before that tribunal that he must pay a fee of one dollar for a marriage license and be married over again.

“What’s dat? Dis yer war bust up me en Eve’s marryin’?”

“Yes,” said the Agent. “You must be legally married.”

Nelse chucked on a brilliant scheme that flashed through his mind.

“Den I see you ergin ’bout dat,” he said as he hastily took his leave.

He made his way homeward revolving his brilliant scheme. “But won’t I fetch dat nigger Eve down er peg er two! I gwine ter make her t’ink I won’ marry her nohow. I make’er ax my pardon fur all dem little disergreements. She got ter talk mighty putty now sho nuf!” And he smiled over his coming triumph.

It was four o’clock in the afternoon when he reached his cabin door on the lot back of Mrs. Gaston’s home. Eve was busy mending some clothes for their little boy now nearly five years old.

“Good evenin’, Miss Eve!”

Eve looked up at him with a sudden flash of her eye. “What de matter wid you nigger?”

“Nuttin’ tall. Des drapped in lak ter pass de time er day, en ax how’s you en yer son stallin’ dis hot wedder!” Nelse bowed and smiled.

“What ail you, you big black baboon?”

“Nuttin’ tall M’am, des callin’ roun’ ter see my frien’s.” Still smiling Nelse walked in and sat down.

Eve put down her sewing, stood up before him, her arms akimbo, and gazed at him steadily till the whites of her eyes began to shine like two moons.

“You wants me ter whale you ober de head wid dat poker?”

“Not dis evenin’, M’am.”

“Den what ail you?”

“De Buro des inform me, dat es I’se er young han’some man en you’se er gittin’ kinder ole en fat, dat we aint married nohow. En dey gimme er paper fur er dollar dat allow me ter marry de young lady er my choice. Dat sho is er great Buro!”

“We aint married?”

“Nob-um.”

“Atter we stan’ up dar befo’ Marse John Durham en say des what all dem white folks say?”

“Nob-um.”

Eve slowly took her seat and gazed down the road thoughtfully.

“I t’ink I drap eroun’ ter see you en gin you er chance wid de odder gals fo’ I steps off,” explained Nelse with a grin.

No answer.

“You ’member dat night I say sumfin’ ’bout er gal I know once, en you riz en grab er poun’ er wool outen my head fo’ I kin move?”

No answer yet.

“Min’ dat time, you bust de biscuit bode ober my head, en lam me wid de fire-shovel, en hit me in de burr er de year wid er flatiron es I wuz makin’ fur de do’?”

“Yas, I min’s dat sho!” said Eve with evident satisfaction.

“Doan you wish you nebber done dat?”

“You black debbil!”

“Dat’s hit! I’se er bad nigger, M’am,—bad nigger fo’ de war. En I’se gittin’ wuss en wuss,” Nelse chuckled.

She looked at him with gathering rage and contempt.

“En den fudder mo, M’am, I doan lak de way you talk ter me sometimes. Yo voice des kinder takes de skin off same’s er file. I laks ter hear er ’oman’s voice lak my Missy’s, des es sof’ es wool. Sometime one word from her keep me warm............