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Name: Class: Date:
Chapter 03: Computers and Mobile Devices
Cengage Learning Testing, Powered by Cognero Page 1
1. Which of the following terms includes speakers, webcams, and printers as examples?
a. peripherals b. integrated systems
c. ports d. embedded computers
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 108
LEARNING OBJECTIVES: VERR.DICO.15.1 - 1
2. Which of the following is an example of an operating system?
a. C++ b. C#
c. Windows d. Visual Basic
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 108
3. Which of the following companies does not manufacture computers that use the Windows operating system?
a. Dell b. HP
c. Lenovo d. Apple
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 108
4. Which of the following refers to the case that contains and protects the motherboard?
a. memory manager b. CP case
c. system unit d. encapsulator
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 110
5. What is the electronic component that interprets and carries out the basic instructions that operate the computer?
a. motherboard b. control unit
c. processor d. arithmetic unit
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 110
6. Which of the following is the term for unsolicited mail messages?
a. e-junk b. spam
c. malware d. mail output

Name: Class: Date:
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 110
7. Which of the following is a portable, personal computer designed to fit on your lap?
a. handtop b. desktop
c. PDA d. notebook
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 111
8. Which of the following types of computers targets a specific audience and offers high-quality audio, video, and
graphics with optimal performance for sophisticated single-user and networked or Internet multiplayer games?
a. multiplayer b. gaming desktop
c. handheld d. encapsulated
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 114
9. Which of the following is an alternative to the use of your finger to enter data on a tablet like the one shown in the
accompanying figure?
a. tapper b. quickpen
c. stylus d. phablet
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 112

Name: Class: Date:
10. Which design of tablet, as shown on the right in the accompanying figure, has an attached keyboard?
a. convertible tablet b. baseline tablet
c. slate tablet d. dynamic tablet
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 112
11. What is the term for an ultrathin laptop (like the one shown in the accompanying figure) that uses the Windows
operating system?
a. thinbook b. thin client
c. ultrabook d. slimbook
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 111

Name: Class: Date:
12. Which of the following is not a part of a server like the one in the accompanying figure?
a. processor b. network connections
c. storage d. bundled software
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 117
13. Which of the following is the practice of sharing computing resources, such as servers, like those in the accompanying
figure?
a. clustering b. concatenation
c. aggregation d. virtualization
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 117
14. Which of the following is a network of several servers, like those in the accompanying figure, together in a single
location?
a. server farm b. server unit

Name: Class: Date:
c. server mainframe d. server aggregate
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 117
15. Which of the following is housed in a bay within a metal frame?
a. rack server b. tower server
c. blade server d. bay server
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 116
16. Which of the following exists in the form of a single circuit board?
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 116
17. Which of the following are large, expensive, powerful computers that can handle hundreds or thousands of connected
users simultaneously and store tremendous amounts of data, instructions, and information?
a. embedded computers b. supercomputers
c. mainframes d. mobile devices
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 117
18. Which of the following is built into an upright cabinet that stands alone?
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 116
19. Which of the following are the fastest, most powerful computers — and the most expensive?
a. desktop computers b. notebook computers
c. midrange servers d. supercomputers
ANSWER: d

Name: Class: Date:
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 120
20. Which of the following do most major corporations use for business activities like billing millions of customers,
preparing payroll for thousands of employees, and managing millions of items in inventory?
a. embedded computers b. supercomputers
c. mainframes d. mobiles devices
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 117
21. Which of the following are capable of processing many trillions of instructions in a single second?
a. desktop computers b. notebook computers
c. midrange servers d. supercomputers
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 120
22. If a POS terminal is able to update inventory at geographically separate locations, what is the term for this ability?
a. Internet capable b. POS mobility
c. digital encapsulation d. ATM facility
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 118
23. Which of the following is NOT a type of kiosk?
a. financial b. ticket
c. media d. visitor
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 119
24. Which of the following kinds of computing refers to an environment of servers that house and provide access to
resources users access through the Internet?
a. disperse b. cloud
c. digital d. liberated
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 120

Name: Class: Date:
25. Which of the following is an example of a mobile device?
a. supercomputers b. installed media modems
c. smartphones d. servers
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 120
26. What percent of e-waste is recycled?
a. 20 b. 38
c. 45 d. 76
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 122
27. Which kind of keyboard projects an image of a keyboard on a flat surface?
a. automatic b. virtual
c. digital d. embedded
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 123
28. Short text messages sent via a text message service are typically fewer than how many characters?
a. 300 b. 445
c. 500 d. 700
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 124
29. Which of the following is a four- or five-digit number assigned to a specific content or mobile service provider, for
example, to vote for a television program contestant or donate to a charity?
a. CSC b. TMS
c. SMS d. CMT
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 124
30. The video clips that users of video message services send are typically how long?

Name: Class: Date:
a. 10 seconds b. 30 seconds
c. 2 minutes d. 10 minutes or more
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 124
31. What is the term for the picture/video message service available on smartphones and other mobile devices?
a. CMS b. MCS
c. MMS d. SCM
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 124
32. What is the term for the technology that allows users to view message details such as the length of calls, for example?
a. integrated vmail b. voice e-mail
c. video mail d. visual voice mail
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 125
33. Which of the following cameras is a high-end digital camera that has interchangeable lenses and uses a mirror to
display on its screen an exact replica of the image to be photographed?
a. MMS b. convertible
c. point-and-shoot d. SLR
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 126
34. Which of the following is an affordable and lightweight digital camera with lenses built into it and a screen that
displays an approximation of the image to be photographed?
a. point-and-shoot b. SLR
c. MMS d. convertible
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 127
35. What is the term for the smallest element in an electronic image?
a. icon b. optic
c. state d. pixel

Name: Class: Date:
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 127
36. Which of the following are small speakers that rest inside each ear canal?
a. earphones b. headphones
c. headsets d. earbuds
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 127
37. Which of the following is not a feature of a point-and-shoot camera?
a. affordable b. digital
c. SLR d. lightweight
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 126
38. Which of the following is held with both hands and controls the movement and actions of players or objects in video
games or computer games?
a. joystick b. dance pad
c. gamepad d. balance board
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 131
39. Which of the following is a special-purpose computer that functions as a component in a larger product?
a. hard-coded computer b. embedded computer
c. soft computer d. indexed computer
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 132
40. Which of the following are small and have limited hardware because they are components in larger products?
a. telematics b. embedded computers
c. handhelds d. smart watches
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1

Name: Class: Date:
REFERENCES: 132
41. Which of the following is not a determinant of the category in which a computer best fits?
a. resolution b. speed
c. price d. processing power
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 134
42. Which of the following is a device that plugs in a USB port on the computer or mobile device and contains multiple
USB ports?
a. USB matrix b. USB receiver
c. USB hub d. USB replicator
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 136
43. How many peripheral devices can you connect with a USB port?
a. up to 32 b. up to 45
c. up to 57 d. up to 127
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 136
44. Which of the following is an external device that provides connections to peripheral devices through ports built into
the device?
a. port replicator b. universal serial bus port
c. wireless port adapter d. docking station
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 136
45. Which of the following is the process of initiating contact between two Bluetooth devices and allowing them to
communicate with each other?
a. streamlining b. discovering
c. docking d. pairing
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 137

Name: Class: Date:
46. Which of the following occurs when the electrical supply or voltage drops, often defined as more than five percent
below the normal volts?
a. undervoltage b. power surge
c. overvoltage d. online surge
ANSWER: a
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 140
47. Which of the following protects against electrical power variations?
a. cloud computing b. surge protector
c. server virtualization d. electronic leveling
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 140
48. What is another name for a standby UPS?
a. online UPS b. surge protector
c. offline UPS d. virtual server
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 141
49. Which of the following kinds of UPS runs off a battery?
a. offline UPS b. UPS utility
c. standby UPS d. online UPS
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 141
50. Which of the following is NOT a likely complaint of someone who spends his or her workday using the computer?
a. lower back pain b. emotional fatigue
c. high blood pressure d. muscle fatigue
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 143
COGNITIVE ASSESSMENT

Name: Class: Date:
51. You want to find a device that can connect to your mobile device and enable you to print. Which of the following do
you use?
a. embedded computer b. peripheral
c. telemetry d. integrated system
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 114
52. You are investigating a problem with the motherboard, what are the two main components to check out?
a. system unit, memory b. CPU, processor
c. processor, system unit d. memory, processor
ANSWER: d
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 114
53. Your desktop houses its system unit in a frame made of metal. What is the term for this frame?
a. CPU b. tower
c. bundle d. server
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 114
54. A computer salesman refers to the shape and size of your new computer by a specific term. What term does he use?
a. resolution b. aggregator
c. form factor d. base index
ANSWER: c
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 114
55. Which of the following terms would you be looking for if you want to make a purchase of a variety of software at the
same time that you purchase your new desktop?
a. cluster b. bundle
c. gathering d. component package
ANSWER: b
POINTS: 1
REFERENCES: 114
56. You are looking for a computer to provide a central location for online game play. What kind of computer do you

Other documents randomly have
different content

Cavanelle
I was always sure of hearing something pleasant from Cavanelle
across the counter. If he was not mistaking me for the freshest and
prettiest girl in New Orleans, he was reserving for me some bit of
silk, or lace, or ribbon of a nuance marvelously suited to my
complexion, my eyes or my hair! What an innocent, delightful
humbug Cavanelle was! How well I knew it and how little I cared!
For when he had sold me the confection or bit of dry-goods in
question, he always began to talk to me of his sister Mathilde, and
then I knew that Cavanelle was an angel.
I had known him long enough to know why he worked so
faithfully, so energetically and without rest—it was because Mathilde
had a voice. It was because of her voice that his coats were worn till
they were out of fashion and almost out at elbows. But for a sister
whose voice needed only a little training to rival that of the
nightingale, one might do such things without incurring reproach.
“You will believe, madame, that I did not know you las’ night at
the opera? I remark’ to Mathilde, ‘tiens! Mademoiselle Montreville,’
an’ I only rec’nize my mistake when I finally adjust my opera
glass.... I guarantee you will be satisfied, madame. In a year from
now you will come an’ thank me for having secu’ you that bargain in
a poult-desoie.... Yes, yes; as you say, Tolville was in voice. But,”
with a shrug of the narrow shoulders and a smile of commiseration
that wrinkled the lean olive cheeks beneath the thin beard, “but to
hear that cavatina render’ as I have heard it render’ by Mathilde, is

another affair! A quality, madame, that moves, that penetrates.
Perhaps not yet enough volume, but that will accomplish itself with
time, when she will become more robus’ in health. It is my intention
to sen’ her for the summer to Gran’ Isle; that good air an’ surf
bathing will work miracles. An artiste, voyez vous, it is not to be
treated like a human being of every day; it needs des petits soins;
perfec’ res’ of body an’ mind; good red wine an’ plenty ... oh yes,
madame, the stage; that is our intention; but never with my consent
in light opera. Patience is what I counsel to Mathilde. A little more
stren’th; a little dev’lopment of the chest to give that soupçon of
compass which is lacking, an’ gran’ opera is what I aspire for my
sister.”
I was curious to know Mathilde and to hear her sing; and thought
it a great pity that a voice so marvelous as she doubtless possessed
should not gain the notice that might prove the step toward the
attainment of her ambition. It was such curiosity and a half-formed
design or desire to interest myself in her career that prompted me to
inform Cavanelle that I should greatly like to meet his sister; and I
asked permission to call upon her the following Sunday afternoon.
Cavanelle was charmed. He otherwise would not have been
Cavanelle. Over and over I was given the most minute directions for
finding the house. The green car—or was it the yellow or blue one? I
can no longer remember. But it was near Goodchildren street, and
would I kindly walk this way and turn that way? At the corner was
an ice dealer’s. In the middle of the block, their house—one-story;
painted yellow; a knocker; a banana tree nodding over the side
fence. But indeed, I need not look for the banana tree, the knocker,
the number or anything, for if I but turn the corner in the
neighborhood of five o’clock I would find him planted at the door
awaiting me.
And there he was! Cavanelle himself; but seeming to me not
himself; apart from the entourage with which I was accustomed to
associate him. Every line of his mobile face, every gesture
emphasized the welcome which his kind eyes expressed as he
ushered me into the small parlor that opened upon the street.

“Oh, not that chair, madame! I entreat you. This one, by all
means. Thousan’ times more comfortable.”
“Mathilde! Strange; my sister was here but an instant ago.
Mathilde! Où es tu donc?” Stupid Cavanelle! He did not know when I
had already guessed it—that Mathilde had retired to the adjoining
room at my approach, and would appear after a sufficient delay to
give an appropriate air of ceremony to our meeting.
And what a frail little piece of mortality she was when she did
appear! At beholding her I could easily fancy that when she stepped
outside of the yellow house, the zephyrs would lift her from her feet
and, given a proper adjustment of the balloon sleeves, gently waft
her in the direction of Goodchildren street, or wherever else she
might want to go.
Hers was no physique for grand opera—certainly no stage
presence; apparently so slender a hold upon life that the least
tension might snap it. The voice which could hope to overcome
these glaring disadvantages would have to be phenomenal.
Mathilde spoke English imperfectly, and with embarrassment, and
was glad to lapse into French. Her speech was languid, unaffectedly
so; and her manner was one of indolent repose; in this respect
offering a striking contrast to that of her brother. Cavanelle seemed
unable to rest. Hardly was I seated to his satisfaction than he darted
from the room and soon returned followed by a limping old black
woman bringing in a sirop d’orgeat and layer cake on a tray.
Mathilde’s face showed feeble annoyance at her brother’s want of
savoir vivre in thus introducing the refreshments at so early a stage
of my visit.
The servant was one of those cheap black women who abound in
the French quarter, who speak Creole patois in preference to English,
and who would rather work in a petit ménage in Goodchildren street
for five dollars a month than for fifteen in the fourth district. Her
presence, in some unaccountable manner, seemed to reveal to me
much of the inner working of this small household. I pictured her
early morning visit to the French market, where picayunes were
doled out sparingly, and lagniappes gathered in with avidity.

I could see the neatly appointed dinner table; Cavanelle extolling
his soup and bouillie in extravagant terms; Mathilde toying with her
papabotte or chicken-wing, and pouring herself a demi-verre from
her very own half-bottle of St. Julien; Pouponne, as they called her,
mumbling and grumbling through habit, and serving them as
faithfully as a dog through instinct. I wondered if they knew that
Pouponne “played the lottery” with every spare “quarter” gathered
from a judicious management of lagniappe. Perhaps they would not
have cared, or have minded, either, that she as often consulted the
Voudoo priestess around the corner as her father confessor.
My thoughts had followed Pouponne’s limping figure from the
room, and it was with an effort I returned to Cavanelle twirling the
piano stool this way and that way. Mathilde was languidly turning
over musical scores, and the two warmly discussing the merits of a
selection which she had evidently decided upon.
The girl seated herself at the piano. Her hands were thin and
anæmic, and she touched the keys without firmness or delicacy.
When she had played a few introductory bars, she began to sing.
Heaven only knows what she sang; it made no difference then, nor
can it make any now.
The day was a warm one, but that did not prevent a creepy
chilliness seizing hold of me. The feeling was generated by
disappointment, anger, dismay and various other disagreeable
sensations which I cannot find names for. Had I been intentionally
deceived and misled? Was this some impertinent pleasantry on the
part of Cavanelle? Or rather had not the girl’s voice undergone some
hideous transformation since her brother had listened to it? I
dreaded to look at him, fearing to see horror and astonishment
depicted on his face. When I did look, his expression was earnestly
attentive and beamed approval of the strains to which he measured
time by a slow, satisfied motion of the hand.
The voice was thin to attenuation, I fear it was not even true.
Perhaps my disappointment exaggerated its simple deficiencies into
monstrous defects. But it was an unsympathetic voice that never
could have been a blessing to possess or to listen to.

I cannot recall what I said at parting—doubtless conventional
things which were not true. Cavanelle politely escorted me to the
car, and there I left him with a hand-clasp which from my side was
tender with sympathy and pity.
“Poor Cavanelle! poor Cavanelle!” The words kept beating time in
my brain to the jingle of the car bells and the regular ring of the
mules’ hoofs upon the cobble stones. One moment I resolved to
have a talk with him in which I would endeavor to open his eyes to
the folly of thus casting his hopes and the substance of his labor to
the winds. The next instant I had decided that chance would
possibly attend to Cavanelle’s affair less clumsily than I could. “But
all the same,” I wondered, “is Cavanelle a fool? is he a lunatic? is he
under a hypnotic spell?” And then—strange that I did not think of it
before—I realized that Cavanelle loved Mathilde intensely, and we all
know that love is blind, but a god just the same.
Two years passed before I saw Cavanelle again. I had been absent
that length of time from the city. In the meanwhile Mathilde had
died. She and her little voice—the apotheosis of insignificance—were
no more. It was perhaps a year after my visit to her that I read an
account of her death in a New Orleans paper. Then came a
momentary pang of commiseration for my good Cavanelle. Chance
had surely acted here the part of a skillful though merciless surgeon;
no temporizing, no half measures. A deep, sharp thrust of the
scalpel; a moment of agonizing pain; then rest, rest; convalescence;
health; happiness! Yes, Mathilde had been dead a year and I was
prepared for great changes in Cavanelle.
He had lived like a hampered child who does not recognize the
restrictions hedging it about, and lives a life of pathetic contentment
in the midst of them. But now all that was altered. He was,
doubtless, regaling himself with the half-bottles of St. Julien, which
were never before for him; with, perhaps, an occasional petit souper
at Moreau’s, and there was no telling what little pleasures beside.
Cavanelle would certainly have bought himself a suit of clothes or
two of modern fit and finish. I would find him with a brightened eye,

a fuller cheek, as became a man of his years; perchance, even, a
waxed moustache! So did my imagination run rampant with me.
And after all, the hand which I clasped across the counter was
that of the self-same Cavanelle I had left. It was no fuller, no firmer.
There were even some additional lines visible through the thin,
brown beard.
“Ah, my poor Cavanelle! you have suffered a grievous loss since
we parted.” I saw in his face that he remembered the circumstances
of our last meeting, so there was no use in avoiding the subject. I
had rightly conjectured that the wound had been a cruel one, but in
a year such wounds heal with a healthy soul.
He could have talked for hours of Mathilde’s unhappy taking-off,
and if the subject had possessed for me the same touching
fascination which it held for him, doubtless, we would have done so,
but—
“And how is it now, mon ami? Are you living in the same place?
running your little ménage as before, my poor Cavanelle?”
“Oh, yes, madame, except that my Aunt Félicie is making her
home with me now. You have heard me speak of my aunt—No? You
never have heard me speak of my Aunt Félicie Cavanelle of
Terrebonne! That, madame, is a noble woman who has suffer’ the
mos’ cruel affliction, and deprivation, since the war.—No, madame,
not in good health, unfortunately, by any means. It is why I esteem
that a blessed privilege to give her declining years those little
comforts, ces petits soins, that is a woman’s right to expec’ from
men.”
I knew what “des petits soins” meant with Cavanelle; doctors’
visits, little jaunts across the lake, friandises of every description
showered upon “Aunt Félicie,” and he himself relegated to the soup
and bouillie which typified his prosaic existence.
I was unreasonably exasperated with the man for awhile, and
would not even permit myself to notice the beauty in texture and
design of the mousseline de laine which he had spread across the
counter in tempting folds. I was forced to restrain a brutal desire to
say something stinging and cruel to him for his fatuity.

However, before I had regained the street, the conviction that
Cavanelle was a hopeless fool seemed to reconcile me to the
situation and also afforded me some diversion.
But even this estimate of my poor Cavanelle was destined not to
last. By the time I had seated myself in the Prytania street car and
passed up my nickel, I was convinced that Cavanelle was an angel.

Discovering Computers Essentials 2016 1st Edition Vermaat Test Bank

I
Tante Cat’rinette
t happened just as every one had predicted. Tante Cat’rinette was
beside herself with rage and indignation when she learned that the
town authorities had for some reason condemned her house and
intended to demolish it.
“Dat house w’at Vieumaite gi’ me his own se’f, out his own mout’,
w’en he gi’ me my freedom! All wrote down en règle befo’ de cote!
Bon dieu Seigneur, w’at dey talkin’ ’bout!”
Tante Cat’rinette stood in the doorway of her home, resting a
gaunt black hand against the jamb. In the other hand she held her
corn-cob pipe. She was a tall, large-boned woman of a pronounced
Congo type. The house in question had been substantial enough in
its time. It contained four rooms: the lower two of brick, the upper
ones of adobe. A dilapidated gallery projected from the upper story
and slanted over the narrow banquette, to the peril of passers-by.
“I don’t think I ever heard why the property was given to you in
the first place, Tante Cat’rinette,” observed Lawyer Paxton, who had
stopped in passing, as so many others did, to talk the matter over
with the old negress. The affair was attracting some attention in
town, and its development was being watched with a good deal of
interest. Tante Cat’rinette asked nothing better than to satisfy the
lawyer’s curiosity.
“Vieumaite all time say. Cat’rinette wort’ gole to ’im; de way I
make dem nigga’ walk chalk. But,” she continued, with recovered
seriousness, “w’en I nuss ’is li’le gal w’at all de doctor’ ’low it ’s goin’

die, an’ I make it well, me, den Vieumaite, he can’t do ’nough, him.
He name’ dat li’le gal Cat’rine fo’ me. Das Miss Kitty w’at marry Miché
Raymond yon’ by Gran’ Eco’. Den he gi’ me my freedom; he got
plenty slave’, him; one don’ count in his pocket. An’ he gi’ me dat
house w’at I’m stan’in’ in de do’; he got plenty house’ an’ lan’, him.
Now dey want pay me t’ousan’ dolla’, w’at I don’ axen’ fo’, an’ tu’n
me out dat house! I waitin’ fo’ ’em, Miché Paxtone,” and a wicked
gleam shot into the woman’s small, dusky eyes. “I got my axe grine
fine. Fus’ man w’at touch Cat’rinette fo’ tu’n her out dat house, he git
’is head bus’ like I bus’ a gode.”
“Dat’s nice day, ainty, Miché Paxtone? Fine wedda fo’ dry my
close.” Upon the gallery above hung an array of shirts, which
gleamed white in the sunshine, and flapped in the rippling breeze.
The spectacle of Tante Cat’rinette defying the authorities was one
which offered much diversion to the children of the neighborhood.
They played numberless pranks at her expense; daily serving upon
her fictitious notices purporting to be to the last degree official. One
youngster, in a moment of inspiration, composed a couplet, which
they recited, sang, shouted at all hours, beneath her windows.
“Tante Cat’rinette, she go in town;
Wen she come back, her house pull’ down.”
So ran the production. She heard it many times during the day, but,
far from offending her, she accepted it as a warning,—a prediction,
as it were,—and she took heed not to offer to fate the conditions for
its fulfillment. She no longer quitted her house even for a moment,
so great was her fear and so firm her belief that the town authorities
were lying in wait to possess themselves of it. She would not cross
the street to visit a neighbor. She waylaid passers-by and pressed
them into service to do her errands and small shopping. She grew
distrustful and suspicious, ever on the alert to scent a plot in the
most innocent endeavor to induce her to leave the house.
One morning, as Tante Cat’rinette was hanging out her latest
batch of washing, Eusèbe, a “free mulatto” from Red River, stopped
his pony beneath her gallery.

“Hé, Tante Cat’rinette!” he called up to her.
She turned to the railing just as she was, in her bare arms and
neck that gleamed ebony-like against the unbleached cotton of her
chemise. A coarse skirt was fastened about her waist, and a string of
many-colored beads knotted around her throat. She held her
smoking pipe between her yellow teeth.
“How you all come on, Miché Eusèbe?” she questioned, pleasantly.
“We all middlin’, Tante Cat’rinette. But Miss Kitty, she putty bad off
out yon’a. I see Mista Raymond dis mo’nin’ w’en I pass by his house;
he say look like de feva don’ wan’ to quit ’er. She been axen’ fo’ you
all t’rough de night. He ’low he reckon I betta tell you. Nice wedda
we got fo’ plantin’, Tante Cat’rinette.”
“Nice wedda fo’ lies, Miché Eusèbe,” and she spat contemptuously
down upon the banquette. She turned away without noticing the
man further, and proceeded to hang one of Lawyer Paxton’s fine
linen shirts upon the line.
“She been axen’ fo’ you all t’rough de night.”
Somehow Tante Cat’rinette could not get that refrain out of her
head. She would not willingly believe that Eusèbe had spoken the
truth, but— “She been axen fo’ you all t’rough de night—all t’rough
de night.” The words kept ringing in her ears, as she came and went
about her daily tasks. But by degrees she dismissed Eusèbe and his
message from her mind. It was Miss Kitty’s voice that she could hear
in fancy following her, calling out through the night, “W’ere Tante
Cat’rinette? W’y Tante Cat’rinette don’ come? W’y she don’ come—
w’y she don’ come?”
All day the woman muttered and mumbled to herself in her Creole
patois; invoking council of “Vieumaite,” as she always did in her
troubles. Tante Cat’rinette’s religion was peculiarly her own; she
turned to heaven with her grievances, it is true, but she felt that
there was no one in Paradise with whom she was quite so well
acquainted as with “Vieumaite.”
Late in the afternoon she went and stood on her doorstep, and
looked uneasily and anxiously out upon the almost deserted street.
When a little girl came walking by,—a sweet child with a frank and

innocent face, upon whose word she knew she could rely,—Tante
Cat’rinette invited her to enter.
“Come yere see Tante Cat’rinette, Lolo. It’s long time you en’t
come see Tante Cat’rine; you gittin’ proud.” She made the little one
sit down, and offered her a couple of cookies, which the child
accepted with pretty avidity.
“You putty good li’le gal, you, Lolo. You keep on go confession all
de time?”
“Oh, yes. I’m goin’ make my firs’ communion firs’ of May, Tante
Cat’rinette.” A dog-eared catechism was sticking out of Lolo’s apron
pocket.
“Das right; be good li’le gal. Mine yo’ maman ev’t’ing she say; an’
neva tell no story. It’s nuttin’ bad in dis worl’ like tellin’ lies. You know
Eusèbe?”
“Eusèbe?”
“Yas; dat li’le ole Red River free m’latto. Uh, uh! dat one man w’at
kin tell lies, yas! He come tell me Miss Kitty down sick yon’a. You ev’
yeard such big story like dat, Lolo?”
The child looked a little bewildered, but she answered promptly,
“’Taint no story, Tante Cat’rinette. I yeard papa sayin’, dinner time,
Mr. Raymond sen’ fo’ Dr. Chalon. An’ Dr. Chalon says he ain’t got time
to go yonda. An’ papa says it’s because Dr. Chalon on’y want to go
w’ere it’s rich people; an’ he’s ’fraid Mista Raymond ain’ goin’ pay
’im.”
Tante Cat’rinette admired the little girl’s pretty gingham dress, and
asked her who had ironed it. She stroked her brown curls, and talked
of all manner of things quite foreign to the subject of Eusèbe and his
wicked propensity for telling lies.
She was not restless as she had been during the early part of the
day, and she no longer mumbled and muttered as she had been
doing over her work.
At night she lighted her coal-oil lamp, and placed it near a window
where its light could be seen from the street through the half-closed
shutters. Then she sat herself down, erect and motionless, in a chair.
When it was near upon midnight, Tante Cat’rinette arose, and
looked cautiously, very cautiously, out of the door. Her house lay in

the line of deep shadow that extended along the street. The other
side was bathed in the pale light of the declining moon. The night
was agreeably mild, profoundly still, but pregnant with the subtle
quivering life of early spring. The earth seemed asleep and
breathing,—a scent-laden breath that blew in soft puffs against Tante
Cat’rinette’s face as she emerged from the house. She closed and
locked her door noiselessly; then she crept slowly away, treading
softly, stealthily as a cat, in the deep shadow.
There were but few people abroad at that hour. Once she ran
upon a gay party of ladies and gentlemen who had been spending
the evening over cards and anisette. They did not notice Tante
Cat’rinette almost effacing herself against the black wall of the
cathedral. She breathed freely and ventured from her retreat only
when they had disappeared from view. Once a man saw her quite
plainly, as she darted across a narrow strip of moonlight. But Tante
Cat’rinette need not have gasped with fright as she did. He was too
drunk to know if she were a thing of flesh, or only one of the
fantastic, maddening shadows that the moon was casting across his
path to bewilder him. When she reached the outskirts of the town,
and had to cross the broad piece of open country which stretched
out toward the pine wood, an almost paralyzing terror came over
her. But she crouched low, and hurried through the marsh and
weeds, avoiding the open road. She could have been mistaken for
one of the beasts browsing there where she passed.
But once in the Grand Ecore road that lay through the pine wood,
she felt secure and free to move as she pleased. Tante Cat’rinette
straightened herself, stiffened herself in fact, and unconsciously
assuming the attitude of the professional sprinter, she sped rapidly
beneath the Gothic interlacing branches of the pines. She talked
constantly to herself as she went, and to the animate and inanimate
objects around her. But her speech, far from intelligent, was hardly
intelligible.
She addressed herself to the moon, which she apostrophized as an
impertinent busybody spying upon her actions. She pictured all
manner of troublesome animals, snakes, rabbits, frogs, pursuing her,
but she defied them to catch Cat’rinette, who was hurrying toward

Miss Kitty. “Pa capab trapé Cat’rinette, vouzot; mo pé couri vite coté
Miss Kitty.” She called up to a mocking-bird warbling upon a lofty
limb of a pine tree, asking why it cried out so, and threatening to
secure it and put it into a cage. “Ca to pé crié comme ça, ti céléra?
Arete, mo trapé zozos la, mo mété li dan ain bon lacage.” Indeed,
Tante Cat’rinette seemed on very familiar terms with the night, with
the forest, and with all the flying, creeping, crawling things that
inhabit it. At the speed with which she traveled she soon had
covered the few miles of wooded road, and before long had reached
her destination.
The sleeping-room of Miss Kitty opened upon the long outside
gallery, as did all the rooms of the unpretentious frame house which
was her home. The place could hardly be called a plantation; it was
too small for that. Nevertheless Raymond was trying to plant; trying
to teach school between times, in the end room; and sometimes,
when he found himself in a tight place, trying to clerk for Mr. Jacobs
over in Campte, across Red River.
Tante Cat’rinette mounted the creaking steps, crossed the gallery,
and entered Miss Kitty’s room as though she were returning to it
after a few moments’ absence. There was a lamp burning dimly
upon the high mantelpiece. Raymond had evidently not been to bed;
he was in shirt sleeves, rocking the baby’s cradle. It was the same
mahogany cradle which had held Miss Kitty thirty-five years before,
when Tante Cat’rinette had rocked it. The cradle had been bought
then to match the bed,—that big, beautiful bed on which Miss Kitty
lay now in a restless half slumber. There was a fine French clock on
the mantel, still telling the hours as it had told them years ago. But
there were no carpets or rugs on the floors. There was no servant in
the house.
Raymond uttered an exclamation of amazement when he saw
Tante Cat’rinette enter.
“How you do, Miché Raymond?” she said, quietly. “I yeard Miss
Kitty been sick; Eusèbe tell me dat dis mo’nin’.”
She moved toward the bed as lightly as though shod with velvet,
and seated herself there. Miss Kitty’s hand lay outside the coverlid; a
shapely hand, which her few days of illness and rest had not yet

softened. The negress laid her own black hand upon it. At the touch
Miss Kitty instinctively turned her palm upward.
“It’s Tante Cat’rinette!” she exclaimed, with a note of satisfaction
in her feeble voice. “W’en did you come, Tante Cat’rinette? They all
said you wouldn’ come.”
“I’m goin’ come ev’y night, cher coeur, ev’y night tell you be well.
Tante Cat’rinette can’t come daytime no mo’.”
“Raymond tole me about it. They doin’ you mighty mean in town,
Tante Cat’rinette.”
“Nev’ mine, ti chou. I know how take care dat w’at Vieumaite gi’
me. You go sleep now. Cat’rinette goin’ set yere an’ mine you. She
goin’ make you well like she all time do. We don’ wan’ no céléra
doctor. We drive ’em out wid a stick, dey come roun’ yere.”
Miss Kitty was soon sleeping more restfully than she had done
since her illness began. Raymond had finally succeeded in quieting
the baby, and he tiptoed into the adjoining room, where the other
children lay, to snatch a few hours of much-needed rest for himself.
Cat’rinette sat faithfully beside her charge, administering at intervals
to the sick woman’s wants.
But the thought of regaining her home before daybreak, and of
the urgent necessity for doing so, did not leave Tante Cat’rinette’s
mind for an instant.
In the profound darkness, the deep stillness of the night that
comes before dawn, she was walking again through the woods, on
her way back to town.
The mocking-birds were asleep, and so were the frogs and the
snakes; and the moon was gone, and so was the breeze. She walked
now in utter silence but for the heavy guttural breathing that
accompanied her rapid footsteps. She walked with a desperate
determination along the road, every foot of which was familiar to her.
When she at last emerged from the woods, the earth about her
was faintly, very faintly, beginning to reveal itself in the tremulous,
gray, uncertain light of approaching day. She staggered and plunged
onward with beating pulses quickened by fear.
A sudden turn, and Tante Cat’rinette stood facing the river. She
stopped abruptly, as if at command of some unseen power that

forced her. For an instant she pressed a black hand against her tired,
burning eyes, and stared fixedly ahead of her.
Tante Cat’rinette had always believed that Paradise was up there
overhead where the sun and stars and moon are, and that
“Vieumaite” inhabited that region of splendor. She never for a
moment doubted this. It would be difficult, perhaps unsatisfying, to
explain why Tante Cat’rinette, on that particular morning, when a
vision of the rising day broke suddenly upon her, should have
believed that she stood in face of a heavenly revelation. But why not,
after all? Since she talked so familiarly herself to the unseen, why
should it not respond to her when the time came?
Across the narrow, quivering line of water, the delicate budding
branches of young trees were limned black against the gold, orange,
—what word is there to tell the color of that morning sky! And
steeped in the splendor of it hung one pale star; there was not
another in the whole heaven.
Tante Cat’rinette stood with her eyes fixed intently upon that star,
which held her like a hypnotic spell. She stammered breathlessly:
“Mo pé couté, Vieumaite. Cat’rinette pé couté.” (I am listening,
Vieumaite. Cat’rinette hears you.)
She stayed there motionless upon the brink of the river till the star
melted into the brightness of the day and became part of it.
When Tante Cat’rinette entered Miss Kitty’s room for the second
time, the aspect of things had changed somewhat. Miss Kitty was
with much difficulty holding the baby while Raymond mixed a saucer
of food for the little one. Their oldest daughter, a child of twelve, had
come into the room with an apronful of chips from the woodpile, and
was striving to start a fire on the hearth, to make the morning
coffee. The room seemed bare and almost squalid in the daylight.
“Well, yere Tante Cat’rinette come back,” she said, quietly
announcing herself.
They could not well understand why she was back; but it was
good to have her there, and they did not question.
She took the baby from its mother, and, seating herself, began to
feed it from the saucer which Raymond placed beside her on a chair.

“Yas,” she said, “Cat’rinette goin’ stay; dis time she en’t nev’ goin’
’way no mo’.”
Husband and wife looked at each other with surprised, questioning
eyes.
“Miché Raymond,” remarked the woman, turning her head up to
him with a certain comical shrewdness in her glance, “if somebody
want len’ you t’ousan’ dolla’, w’at you goin’ say? Even if it’s ole nigga
’oman?”
The man’s face flushed with sudden emotion. “I would say that
person was our bes’ frien’, Tante Cat’rinette. An’,” he added, with a
smile, “I would give her a mortgage on the place, of co’se, to secu’
her f’om loss.”
“Das right,” agreed the woman practically. “Den Cat’rinette goin’
len’ you t’ousan’ dolla’. Dat w’at Vieumaite give her, dat b’long to
her; don’ b’long to nobody else. An’ we go yon’a to town, Miché
Raymond, you an’ me. You care me befo’ Miché Paxtone. I want ’im
fo’ put down in writin’ befo’ de cote dat w’at Cat’rinette got, it fo’
Miss Kitty w’en I be dead.”
Miss Kitty was crying softly in the depths of her pillow.
“I en’t got no head fo’ all dat, me,” laughed Tante Cat’rinette, good
humoredly, as she held a spoonful of pap up to the baby’s eager lips.
“It’s Vieumaite tell me all dat clair an’ plain dis mo’nin’, w’en I comin’
’long de Gran’ Eco’ road.”

M
A Respectable Woman
rs. Baroda was a little provoked to learn that her husband
expected his friend, Gouvernail, up to spend a week or two on
the plantation.
They had entertained a good deal during the winter; much of the
time had also been passed in New Orleans in various forms of mild
dissipation. She was looking forward to a period of unbroken rest,
now, and undisturbed tête-a-tête with her husband, when he
informed her that Gouvernail was coming up to stay a week or two.
This was a man she had heard much of but never seen. He had
been her husband’s college friend; was now a journalist, and in no
sense a society man or “a man about town,” which were, perhaps,
some of the reasons she had never met him. But she had
unconsciously formed an image of him in her mind. She pictured him
tall, slim, cynical; with eye-glasses, and his hands in his pockets; and
she did not like him. Gouvernail was slim enough, but he wasn’t very
tall nor very cynical; neither did he wear eye-glasses nor carry his
hands in his pockets. And she rather liked him when he first
presented himself.
But why she liked him she could not explain satisfactorily to
herself when she partly attempted to do so. She could discover in
him none of those brilliant and promising traits which Gaston, her
husband, had often assured her that he possessed. On the contrary,
he sat rather mute and receptive before her chatty eagerness to
make him feel at home and in face of Gaston’s frank and wordy

hospitality. His manner was as courteous toward her as the most
exacting woman could require; but he made no direct appeal to her
approval or even esteem.
Once settled at the plantation he seemed to like to sit upon the
wide portico in the shade of one of the big Corinthian pillars,
smoking his cigar lazily and listening attentively to Gaston’s
experience as a sugar planter.
“This is what I call living,” he would utter with deep satisfaction,
as the air that swept across the sugar field caressed him with its
warm and scented velvety touch. It pleased him also to get on
familiar terms with the big dogs that came about him, rubbing
themselves sociably against his legs. He did not care to fish, and
displayed no eagerness to go out and kill grosbecs when Gaston
proposed doing so.
Gouvernail’s personality puzzled Mrs. Baroda, but she liked him.
Indeed, he was a lovable, inoffensive fellow. After a few days, when
she could understand him no better than at first, she gave over
being puzzled and remained piqued. In this mood she left her
husband and her guest, for the most part, alone together. Then
finding that Gouvernail took no manner of exception to her action,
she imposed her society upon him, accompanying him in his idle
strolls to the mill and walks along the batture. She persistently
sought to penetrate the reserve in which he had unconsciously
enveloped himself.
“When is he going—your friend?” she one day asked her husband.
“For my part, he tires me frightfully.”
“Not for a week yet, dear. I can’t understand; he gives you no
trouble.”
“No. I should like him better if he did; if he were more like others,
and I had to plan somewhat for his comfort and enjoyment.”
Gaston took his wife’s pretty face between his hands and looked
tenderly and laughingly into her troubled eyes. They were making a
bit of toilet sociably together in Mrs. Baroda’s dressing-room.
“You are full of surprises, ma belle,” he said to her. “Even I can
never count upon how you are going to act under given conditions.”
He kissed her and turned to fasten his cravat before the mirror.

“Here you are,” he went on, “taking poor Gouvernail seriously and
making a commotion over him, the last thing he would desire or
expect.”
“Commotion!” she hotly resented. “Nonsense! How can you say
such a thing? Commotion, indeed! But, you know, you said he was
clever.”
“So he is. But the poor fellow is run down by overwork now. That’s
why I asked him here to take a rest.”
“You used to say he was a man of ideas,” she retorted,
unconciliated. “I expected him to be interesting, at least. I’m going
to the city in the morning to have my spring gowns fitted. Let me
know when Mr. Gouvernail is gone; I shall be at my Aunt Octavie’s.”
That night she went and sat alone upon a bench that stood
beneath a live oak tree at the edge of the gravel walk.
She had never known her thoughts or her intentions to be so
confused. She could gather nothing from them but the feeling of a
distinct necessity to quit her home in the morning.
Mrs. Baroda heard footsteps crunching the gravel; but could
discern in the darkness only the approaching red point of a lighted
cigar. She knew it was Gouvernail, for her husband did not smoke.
She hoped to remain unnoticed, but her white gown revealed her to
him. He threw away his cigar and seated himself upon the bench
beside her; without a suspicion that she might object to his
presence.
“Your husband told me to bring this to you, Mrs. Baroda,” he said,
handing her a filmy, white scarf with which she sometimes
enveloped her head and shoulders. She accepted the scarf from him
with a murmur of thanks, and let it lie in her lap.
He made some commonplace observation upon the baneful effect
of the night air at that season. Then as his gaze reached out into the
darkness, he murmured, half to himself:
“‘Night of south winds—night of the large few stars!
Still nodding night——’”

She made no reply to this apostrophe to the night, which indeed,
was not addressed to her.
Gouvernail was in no sense a diffident man, for he was not a self-
conscious one. His periods of reserve were not constitutional, but
the result of moods. Sitting there beside Mrs. Baroda, his silence
melted for the time.
He talked freely and intimately in a low, hesitating drawl that was
not unpleasant to hear. He talked of the old college days when he
and Gaston had been a good deal to each other; of the days of keen
and blind ambitions and large intentions. Now there was left with
him, at least, a philosophic acquiescence to the existing order—only
a desire to be permitted to exist, with now and then a little whiff of
genuine life, such as he was breathing now.
Her mind only vaguely grasped what he was saying. Her physical
being was for the moment predominant. She was not thinking of his
words, only drinking in the tones of his voice. She wanted to reach
out her hand in the darkness and touch him with the sensitive tips of
her fingers upon the face or the lips. She wanted to draw close to
him and whisper against his cheek—she did not care what—as she
might have done if she had not been a respectable woman.
The stronger the impulse grew to bring herself near him, the
further, in fact, did she draw away from him. As soon as she could
do so without an appearance of too great rudeness, she rose and
left him there alone.
Before she reached the house, Gouvernail had lighted a fresh cigar
and ended his apostrophe to the night.
Mrs. Baroda was greatly tempted that night to tell her husband—
who was also her friend—of this folly that had seized her. But she
did not yield to the temptation. Beside being a respectable woman
she was a very sensible one; and she knew there are some battles in
life which a human being must fight alone.
When Gaston arose in the morning, his wife had already departed.
She had taken an early morning train to the city. She did not return
till Gouvernail was gone from under her roof.
There was some talk of having him back during the summer that
followed. That is, Gaston greatly desired it; but this desire yielded to

his wife’s strenuous opposition.
However, before the year ended, she proposed, wholly from
herself, to have Gouvernail visit them again. Her husband was
surprised and delighted with the suggestion coming from her.
“I am glad, chère amie, to know that you have finally overcome
your dislike for him; truly he did not deserve it.”
“Oh,” she told him, laughingly, after pressing a long, tender kiss
upon his lips, “I have overcome everything! you will see. This time I
shall be very nice to him.”

M
Ripe Figs
aman-Nainaine said that when the figs were ripe Babette might
go to visit her cousins down on the Bayou-Lafourche where the
sugar cane grows. Not that the ripening of figs had the least thing to
do with it, but that is the way Maman-Nainaine was.
It seemed to Babette a very long time to wait; for the leaves upon
the trees were tender yet, and the figs were like little hard, green
marbles.
But warm rains came along and plenty of strong sunshine, and
though Maman-Nainaine was as patient as the statue of la Madone,
and Babette as restless as a humming-bird, the first thing they both
knew it was hot summer-time. Every day Babette danced out to
where the fig-trees were in a long line against the fence. She walked
slowly beneath them, carefully peering between the gnarled,
spreading branches. But each time she came disconsolate away
again. What she saw there finally was something that made her sing
and dance the whole long day.
When Maman-Nainaine sat down in her stately way to breakfast,
the following morning, her muslin cap standing like an aureole about
her white, placid face, Babette approached. She bore a dainty
porcelain platter, which she set down before her godmother. It
contained a dozen purple figs, fringed around with their rich, green
leaves.
“Ah,” said Maman-Nainaine, arching her eyebrows, “how early the
figs have ripened this year!”

“Oh,” said Babette, “I think they have ripened very late.”
“Babette,” continued Maman-Nainaine, as she peeled the very
plumpest figs with her pointed silver fruit-knife, “you will carry my
love to them all down on Bayou-Lafourche. And tell your Tante
Frosine I shall look for her at Toussaint—when the chrysanthemums
are in bloom.”

O
Ozème’s Holiday
zème often wondered why there was not a special dispensation
of providence to do away with the necessity for work. There
seemed to him so much created for man’s enjoyment in this world,
and so little time and opportunity to profit by it. To sit and do
nothing but breathe was a pleasure to Ozème; but to sit in the
company of a few choice companions, including a sprinkling of
ladies, was even a greater delight; and the joy which a day’s hunting
or fishing or picnicking afforded him is hardly to be described. Yet he
was by no means indolent. He worked faithfully on the plantation
the whole year long, in a sort of methodical way; but when the time
came around for his annual week’s holiday, there was no holding him
back. It was often decidedly inconvenient for the planter that Ozème
usually chose to take his holiday during some very busy season of
the year.
He started out one morning in the beginning of October. He had
borrowed Mr. Laballière’s buckboard and Padue’s old gray mare, and
a harness from the negro Sévérin. He wore a light blue suit which
had been sent all the way from St. Louis, and which had cost him
ten dollars; he had paid almost as much again for his boots; and his
hat was a broad-rimmed gray felt which he had no cause to be
ashamed of. When Ozème went “broading,” he dressed—well,
regardless of cost. His eyes were blue and mild; his hair was light,
and he wore it rather long; he was clean shaven, and really did not
look his thirty-five years.

Ozème had laid his plans weeks beforehand. He was going visiting
along Cane River; the mere contemplation filled him with pleasure.
He counted upon reaching Fédeaus’ about noon, and he would stop
and dine there. Perhaps they would ask him to stay all night. He
really did not hold to staying all night, and was not decided to accept
if they did ask him. There were only the two old people, and he
rather fancied the notion of pushing on to Beltrans’, where he would
stay a night, or even two, if urged. He was quite sure that there
would be something agreeable going on at Beltrans’, with all those
young people—perhaps a fish-fry, or possibly a ball!
Of course he would have to give a day to Tante Sophie and
another to Cousine Victoire; but none to the St. Annes unless
entreated—after St. Anne reproaching him last year with being a
fainéant for broading at such a season! At Cloutierville, where he
would linger as long as possible, he meant to turn and retrace his
course, zigzagging back and forth across Cane River so as to take in
the Duplans, the Velcours, and others that he could not at the
moment recall. A week seemed to Ozème a very, very little while in
which to crowd so much pleasure.
There were steam-gins at work; he could hear them whistling far
and near. On both sides of the river the fields were white with
cotton, and everybody in the world seemed busy but Ozème. This
reflection did not distress or disturb him in the least; he pursued his
way at peace with himself and his surroundings.
At Lamérie’s cross-roads store, where he stopped to buy a cigar,
he learned that there was no use heading for Fédeaus’, as the two
old people had gone to town for a lengthy visit, and the house was
locked up. It was at Fédeaus’ that Ozème had intended to dine.
He sat in the buckboard, given up to a moment or two of
reflection. The result was that he turned away from the river, and
entered the road that led between two fields back to the woods and
into the heart of the country. He had determined upon taking a short
cut to the Beltrans’ plantation, and on the way he meant to keep an
eye open for old Aunt Tildy’s cabin, which he knew lay in some
remote part of this cut-off. He remembered that Aunt Tildy could
cook an excellent meal if she had the material at hand. He would

induce her to fry him a chicken, drip a cup of coffee, and turn him
out a pone of corn-bread, which he thought would be sumptuous
enough fare for the occasion.
Aunt Tildy dwelt in the not unusual log cabin, of one room, with
its chimney of mud and stone, and its shallow gallery formed by the
jutting of the roof. In close proximity to the cabin was a small
cotton-field, which from a long distance looked like a field of snow.
The cotton was bursting and overflowing foam-like from bolls on the
drying stalk. On the lower branches it was hanging ragged and
tattered, and much of it had already fallen to the ground. There
were a few chinaberry-trees in the yard before the hut, and under
one of them an ancient and rusty-looking mule was eating corn from
a wood trough. Some common little Creole chickens were scratching
about the mule’s feet and snatching at the grains of corn that
occasionally fell from the trough.
Aunt Tildy was hobbling across the yard when Ozème drew up
before the gate. One hand was confined in a sling; in the other she
carried a tin pan, which she let fall noisily to the ground when she
recognized him. She was broad, black, and misshapen, with her
body bent forward almost at an acute angle. She wore a blue
cottonade of large plaids, and a bandana awkwardly twisted around
her head.
“Good God A’mighty, man! Whar you come from?” was her startled
exclamation at beholding him.
“F’om home, Aunt Tildy; w’ere else do you expec’?” replied
Ozème, dismounting composedly.
He had not seen the old woman for several years—since she was
cooking in town for the family with which he boarded at the time.
She had washed and ironed for him, atrociously, it is true, but her
intentions were beyond reproach if her washing was not. She had
also been clumsily attentive to him during a spell of illness. He had
paid her with an occasional bandana, a calico dress, or a checked
apron, and they had always considered the account between
themselves square, with no sentimental feeling of gratitude
remaining on either side.

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