front door. "Yessum, Mammy's here. Go right in dat dere room and you'll
find her."

Standing by the fireplace of the next room was a thin, very black woman
engaged in lighting her pipe. A green checked gingham apron partially
covered her faded blue frock over which she wore a black shirtwaist
fastened together with "safety first" pins. A white cloth, tied turban
fashion about her head, and gray cotton hose worn with black and white
slippers that were run down at the heels, completed her costume.

"Good mornin'. Yessum, dis here's Georgia," was her greeting. "Let's go
in dar whar Ida is so us can set down. I don't know what you come for,
but I guess I'll soon find out."

Georgia was eager to talk but her articulation had been impaired by a
paralytic stroke and at times it was difficult to understand her jumble
of words. After observance of the amenities; comments on the weather,
health and such subjects, she began:

"Whar was I born? Why I was born on de plantation of a great man. It was
Marse Alec Stephens' plantation 'bout a mile and a half from
Crawfordville, in Taliaferro County. Mary and Grandison Tilly was my Ma
and Pa. Ma was cook up at de big house and she died when I was jus' a
little gal. Pa was a field hand, and he belonged to Marse Britt Tilly.

"Dere was four of us chillun: me, and Mary, and Frances, and Mack," she
counted on the fingers of one hand. "Marse Alec let Marse Jim Johnson
have Mack for his bodyguard. Frances, she wuked in de field, and Mary
was de baby--she was too little to wuk. Me, I was 14 years old when de
war was over. I swept yards, toted water to de field, and played 'round