Even old Madison Chalkley, his stout legs swaddled in home-made overalls, dismounted from his horse, and Colonel Iston raised his tall form from the porch step where he had been sitting, and approached the cart.
"Upon my word," said a young fellow, with high boots, slouched hat, and a riding whip, "if here ain't old Aunt Patsy come after a letter! Where do you expect a letter from, Aunt Patsy ?" The old woman fixed her spectacles on him for an instant, and then said in a clear voice which could be heard by all the little crowd: "'Tain't from nobody dat I owes any money to, nohow, Mahs' Bill Trimble." A general laugh followed this rejoinder, and Uncle Isham grinned with gratified pride in the enduring powers of his charge.

The old woman now put down her parasol, and made as if she would descend from the cart.
"You needn't git out, Aun' Patsy," said several negro boys at once.
"We'll fotch your letters to you." "Git 'long wid you!" said the old woman angrily.

"I didn't come here fur no letters.

Ef I wanted letters I'd sen' 'Liza fur 'em.

Git out de way." A chair was now brought, and placed near the cart; a woman mounted into the vehicle to assist her; Uncle Isham and another colored man stood ready to receive her, and Aunt Patsy began her descent.