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Yo' sha'n't whop 'im; he b'longs to me, an' ef you hit 'im another lick I'll set 'im free! "I wish yo' hed see ole marster. Marse Chan he warn' mo'n eight years ole, an' dyah dey wuz ole marster stan'in' wid he whop raised up, an' Marse Chan red an' cryin', hol'in' on to it, an' sayin' I b'longst to 'im.
Yo' sha'n't whup 'im; he b'longs to me, an' ef you hit 'im another lick I'll set 'im free! "I wish yo' hed see old marster. Marse Chan he warn' mo'n eight years ole, an' dyah dey wuz-old marster stan'in' wid he whup raised up, an' Marse Chan red an' cryin', hol'in' on to it, an' sayin' I b'longst to 'im.
"Did you always b'long to Mr. Tight-fis' Smith?" asked Diddie. "No, honey; he bought me fum de Powell 'state, an' I ain't b'longst ter him no mo'n 'boutn fo' years." "Is he got any little girls?" asked Dumps. "No, missy; his wife an' two chil'en wuz bu'nt up on de steamboat gwine ter New 'Leans, some twenty years ergo; an' de folks sez dat's wat makes 'im sich er kintankrus man.
I met er Injun one time in de road, an' I axed 'im wuz he de man wat kilt an' sculpt Sis Leah, wat usen ter b'longst ter yer gran'pa, an' wat de Injuns kilt. I axt 'im 'ticklur, caze I had my axe erlong, an' ef'n he wuz de man, I 'lowed fur ter lay him out. But, bless yer life, chile, he went on fur ter say,
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