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"Long time ago, when yo' hair black," he began deliberately, with a sonorous lingering upon his vowels, "yo' all time my frien'. I yo' frien' all same. Yo' no likum otha white man. Yo' all time bueno. Yo' house all same my wikiup. Me come eat at yo' house, talk yo' all same brotha. Yo' boys all same my boys all time my frien'. Me speakum all time no lie, mebbyso."
Lander now leaned back and looked over his shoulder at his wife as if he might hopefully suppose she had come to the end of her questions, but she gave no sign of encouraging him to start on their way again. "That your brotha, too?" she asked the girl. "Yes'm. He's the oldest of the boys; he's next to me." "I don't know," said Mrs.
Lander now leaned back and looked over his shoulder at his wife as if he might hopefully suppose she had come to the end of her questions, but she gave no sign of encouraging him to start on their way again. "That your brotha, too?" she asked the girl. "Yes'm. He's the oldest of the boys; he's next to me." "I don't know," said Mrs.
Grégoire stopped at the window to tell her, with a sad attempt at indifference: “Yo’ brotha says don’t hurry packin’; Woodson ain’t goin’ to come fur your trunks tell mornin’.” “All right, thank you,” glancing towards him for an instant carelessly and going on with her work. “I didn’ know you was goin’ away.”
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