We must say a few words in regard to our minor characters—our kitchen characters—[for] what is a kitchen without a cook? Or what is a dining room without a dining room servant? You simply say that neither are of any use whatever. Well—Aunt Sally figured in the first named occupation, and George in the latter. Aunt Sally called herself “one of de ’ristocratick cooks,” and George patronizingly called himself a dining room servant, “cut” out for the aristocracy.

After the thrilling events that occurred that morning, the two persons above named went about their duties in the kitchen. Mrs. Sowers [was] presiding and, as usual, causing a great many hearty laughs by her comical answers when she didn’t understand what anyone said. However, there was no laugh with any of the inhabitants of Brookland on that particular morning.

Everyone was thinking of the strange way in which the supposed Al King was caught at last. Aunt Sally studied for a long while before she said anything that morning. Formerly, she was always ready for talking to Mrs. Sowers or George, but she didn’t seem in that kind of a mood now.

“Aunt Sally, what are you studying about?” inquired George. “You have been studying all the morning about something.”

“I’se studyin’ ’bout de oberwhelmin’ evidence of de power of de Almighty,” answered Aunt Sally. “You is neber looking at things in dat way,” she added after a short pause.

“Where is the overwhelming evidence?” interrogated George. “Because Mr. Kent found Mr. King? You call that overwhelming evidence?”

Aunt Sally disdained making any answers to George. Uncle Jack came in, and Mrs. Sowers astounded him and Aunt Sally by saying: “Well, Jack, the boss is talking about selling and taking [you] and Aunt Sally to New England. When you get there, you will be free. I am glad he is going, just because you two will be set free. And we’ll take George, if he wants to go.”

“Missus, Missus, may God bless you for dat,” said Jack fervently as soon as he could speak. “But I will neber—no neber—leave you intirely.”

“Thank you, Jack, for your devotion to me,” said the lady kindly, while large tears stood in her eyes, for Jack’s fervent words had moved her heart, and tears would come.

“Missus, can dat be true dat we are gwine to be free niggahs at last?” inquired Aunt Sally, for she could hardly believe what she heard.

“Yes, Sally, it is true, and I guess you will not quarrel with George anymore about his freedom,” answered the lady with a smile.

“No, Missus, I will no[t] do so ag’in, for I see now how nice ’tis to be free,” said Aunt Sally.

“George didn’t mind it though.” Jack was still looking at his mistress.

“Jack, you must stop drinking when you are a free man,” said the lady as she caught his look. “You must abstain from the use of all alcoholic drink whatever, for you will have your living to get when you are free, and you must save your money to buy you a house with.”

“Missus, give one liberty an’ I’ll fight de rest out myself, just so as you give me my liberty,” said Jack, fearing at the time that his Mistress would take back her promise.

“You won’t go back on your word, will you, Missus?” Aunt Sally asked.

“I, go back on my word? No, Aunt Sally, never,” answered the lady assuringly.

“Missus, I can’t tell you how much I thank you for your kindness,” resumed Jack, as soon as the lady had answered Aunt Sally. “My mouf is too poor a speaker to tell you how much I thank you,” added Jack, not thinking of the absurdity of the words he used. But Mrs. Sowers never laughed at Jack’s poor way of talking—she rather pitied him for his ignorance.

“Aunt Sally, all your prejudice against free niggers has subsided,” asserted George. “You have no prejudice against them now, have you?”

Aunt Sally said humbly: “George, I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Oh yes, I’ll forgive you, if you won’t do so anymore,” replied George laughingly.

Kate came into the kitchen about this time and began her talk, or prate, whatever you choose to call it.

“So they have found Albert King at last. He certainly was gone a long time,” said Kate as she took a seat near Mrs. Sowers. “Well, some say it is not Al King,” continued Kate, speaking more from conjecture than anything else. No one spoke, and she still continued her prate in this wise.

“First Mattie was sick, and as soon as she got well, Al King, or whoever he is, was found. And what a coincidence it was that just as you were ready to go, they came down the road with him. La! Me, but the workings of Providence is strange.”

“Kate, you would make a good preacher if you didn’t exaggerate so,” said George. “But you tell so many of those barefaced fibs [that], if you were to preach, no one would believe what you said,” added George mischievously.

“Indeed, I do hate niggers. They are always too fresh for my use,” said Kate, looking disgusted. “They always put an unfavorable impression on every word you speak. But this world is so wicked, it can’t stand long,” added she prophetically, not thinking she had given George another word to comment upon.

“It is not the world that is wicked,” said George. “The world is all right—it is the people in the world.”

Kate was going to give an angry reply, but just as she was going to speak, she heard a hissing sound like that of an enormous snake near her. She looked to see where it was, but could not see it for some time.

Finally she saw, not two feet from her, a moccasin snake of enormous size. She was so frightened at the sight as to be unable to speak, and the snake was putting himself in a more suitable way to make a spring for her. She sat still, as if spell-bound, not moving a muscle—her eyes seemed as if riveted on the snake.

Mrs. Sowers noticed Kate was sitting very still, and she could not account for this sudden stillness of one who always tired her talking, so she called out:

“Kate, Kate, what makes you sit so still all at once?” No answer came from Kate’s lips. She sat as still as if stone dead. “George, see what is the matter with her,” said Mrs. Sowers, fearing Kate was dead.

“Kate, Kate, come, what is the matter?” said George, shaking her vehemently.

It was some time before Kate could be aroused from the stupor into which she had sank. When she did get aroused, she said: “Look! Look yonder, George, see that snake?” George looked and was astounded at what he saw, for he saw the identical snake which I have described.

He “went” for that snake and “gobbled him up in less nor no time” as the old trappers say when the[y] kill a redskin.^[1]

Kate didn’t care about arguing anymore for that once, so she repaired at once to her home to tell of her adventure, or at least of her charm—for the snake had charmed her, as some people term it.

“I am glad Kate got a good scare,” asserted George. “Of course I didn’t want to see her hurt, but a good scare will help her maintain her reason, or take what little she had got away—it will do whichever is the easiest, and I think it would be easier to take the reason she had got away from her than it would be to endow her with more.” Mrs. Sowers thought a little reprimand was necessary, so she said kindly:

“George, don’t you remember the text that the minister preached from yesterday?”

“Yes ma’am. It was ‘judge not, that ye be not judged, for with the same judgment ye judge with, you shall be judged by’^[2] or somehow somewhere near that. That is the sentiment, if not the words,” replied George.

“Well, you said enough of it correct to condemn you,” said the lady. “You said Kate had very little reason, and you may be judged the same way.”

“Oh yes,” said Aunt Sally triumphantly. “You got catched at last, you young, free—” She stopped talking, for she was just about to say the very word she had promised not to say.

“Aunt Sally, you came very near forgetting your promise,” asserted Mrs. Sowers.

“Yes, Missus, but I didn’t quite forget it,” answered Aunt Sally confidentially.

“You must break yourself of that, Aunt Sally, for it will be bad for you to talk that way in New England,” advised the lady. She was a true lady, a lady in every sense of the word. She was one of the few that followed God’s commandment by loving her neighbor as herself, by praying for them that despitefully used her. She was a Christian, one who had never refused those that asked of her, or turned the beggar empty handed away—no poor person in the village of Winchester could be bribed to say a word against her. Her hand had ministered to the wants of every?—yes, every poor person in the village, and indeed she was not entirely unknown in Berryville and vicinity.

“I’ll try to stop it, Miss Mary,” said Aunt Sally apologetically, and in such a way as to create a laugh, for George broke out in a loud hearty laugh.

“Oh yes, Aunt Sally will do better after a while,” assented George. After a pause, he said, “This is the first of July.”

“I thought yestidday was the fust,” said Aunt Sally, thinking she was correcting a great mistake on George’s part.

“I know yesterday was the first day,” replied George. “But people call it the first of July for a week yet, don’t they, Miss Mary?”

“Yes, it is called the first until near the middle,” answered the lady readily.

“Well, dat’s another wrinkle in any forehead as sure as you’re born,” said Aunt Sally. For it seemed absurd to her that the first of the month could last until near the middle. However, she let it go at that, and as it was drawing near noon, she hastened dinner as much as was prudent.

“George, step in and see what time it is,” said Mrs. Sowers, motioning toward the dining room door. George disappeared immediately and returned in a few moments.

“It is half past eleven,” said he. “And I must hurry about my work.”

“Yes, hurry up, Georgie,” said Mrs. Sowers, who believed in the Sunday school hymn, “Kind words can never die.”

She always abided by that rule. She always said, “One kind word will do more good than a thousand unkind ones,” and she was right—a kind word will very often save a human life while an unkind word will slay a thousand, or be the cause of them being slain.

Mrs. Sowers said she would go up and see the young man, and also see how Ella was, as she had seen Herbert and Hugh go upstairs, and also her husband and Wilson Reed.

She went upstairs directly behind Sowers and Wilse, and went into Mattie’s room. Then she went to the young man’s room, as she found no one in Mattie’s room. As she went in, she saw they were all dumbfounded at something they saw, so she went up close and looked at the place which Ella pointed out, and to her great surprise she saw in her own hand-writing, written with indelible ink, a name on the shirt—the name was: “William G. Reed”!