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A lady in a southern town was approached by her colored maid.

"Well, Jenny?" she asked, seeing that something was in the air.

"Please, Mis' Mary, might I have the aft'noon off three weeks frum
Wednesday?" Then, noticing an undecided look in her mistress's face, she
added hastily--"I want to go to my finance's fun'ral."

"Goodness me," answered the lady--"Your finance's funeral! Why, you
don't know that he's even going to die, let alone the date of his
funeral. That is something we can't any of us be sure about--when we are
going to die."

"Yes'm," said the girl doubtfully. Then, with a triumphant note in her
voice--"I'se sure about him, Mis', 'cos he's goin' to be hung!"





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