In her long, bony fingers, rusty black on the outside, and a very pale tan on the inside, she held a coarse needle and thread and a corner of the quilt.

Near by, in front of a brick-paved fireplace, was one of her great-granddaughters, a girl about eighteen years old, who was down upon her hands and knees, engaged with lungs, more powerful than ordinary bellows, in blowing into flame a coal upon the hearth.
"How d'ye Aunt Patsy ?" said Mrs Null.

"I didn't expect to see you looking so well." "Dat's Miss Null," said the girl, raising her eyes from the fire, and addressing her ancestor.
The old woman stuck her needle into the quilt, and reached out her hand to her visitor, who took it cordially.
"How d'ye, miss ?" said Aunt Patsy, in a thin but quite firm voice, while the young woman got up and brought Mrs Null a chair, very short in the legs, very high in the back, and with its split-oak bottom very much sunken.
"How are you feeling to-day, Aunt Patsy ?" asked Mrs Null, gazing with much interest on the aged face.
"'Bout as common," replied the old woman.

"I didn't spec' to be libin' dis week, but I ain't got my quilt done yit, an' I can't go 'mong de angels wrop in a shroud wid one corner off." "Certainly not," answered Mrs Null.

"Haven't you pieces enough to finish it ?" "Oh, yaas, I got bits enough, but de trouble is to sew 'em up.