Leaning against this chimney, as if for protection and
support, was a little cabin gray and decrepit with age. The door of
the cabin stood wide open, for the warm spring was well advanced in
the South. There was no need of a fire, but Aun' Jinkey, the
mistress of the abode, said she "kep' hit bunin' fer comp'ny." She
sat by it now, smoking as lazily as her chimney, in an old chair
which creaked as if in pain when she rocked. She supposed herself to
be in deep meditation, and regarded her corncob pipe not merely a
solace but also as an invaluable assistant to clearness of thought.
Aun' Jinkey had the complacent belief that she could reason out most
questions if she could only smoke and think long enough.
Unfortunately, events would occur which required action, or which
raised new questions before she had had time to solve those
originally presented; yet it would be hard to fancy a more tranquil
order of things than that of which she was a humble part.
The cabin was shaded by grand old oaks and pines, through which the
afternoon sun shone in mild radiance, streaming into the doorway and
making a broad track of light over the uneven floor.
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