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I have seen purty little Roxy grow up from a chile, an' as she begin to round up and git tall, says I: 'Nigger or no nigger, she's angel! The white gals they all throwed off on me, caze I wasn't earnin' nothin', an' I sot my eyes on Roxy Custis an' I says: 'What kin I do fur to make her shine to me? So I kept a-follerin' of her everywhere, an' I see her one day comin' along the road a-pickin' of the wild blossoms an' with her han' full of 'em, an' I says: 'Roxy, what you doin' of with them flowers? 'They're fur my missis, Miss Vesty, says she; 'she lives on wild flowers, an' they're all I has to give her, an' I want her to love me as much as Virgie. You see Levin, the t'other gal, Virgie, waits on Miss Custis, an' Roxy she was a little jealous.
"Maybe dar ain't goin' ter be no clinchin'," said Hasty, hoping for Mandy's assurance to the contrary. "What?" shrieked Mandy. "Wid dat 'ere sneakin' Widow Willoughby already a-tellin' de deacons how to start de new parson a-goin' proper?" "Now, why you's always a-pickin' onto dat 'ere widow?" asked Hasty, already enjoying the explosion which he knew his defence of the widow was sure to excite.
" Well, ef ye air," said the old man, slowly, "I'm a-thinkin' yu'll have to buck up ag'in Sherd Raines, fer ef I hain't like a goose a-pickin' o' grass by moonshine, Sherd air atter the gal fer hisself, not fer the Lord. Yes," he continued, after a short, dry laugh; "'n' mebbe ye'll hav to keep an eye open fer old Bill.
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