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"Dat's all I ever hyern, honey, en I b'lieve hit's all Ole Marster ever hyern eeder, case w'en I tuck his gun out er de rack de nex' day, he was settin' up des es prim in de parlour a-sippin' a julep wid Marse Peyton Ambler, en I hyern 'im kinder whisper, 'Molly, she's en angel, Peyton en he ain' never call Ole Miss en angel twel he loss 'er car'ige."
"We all ain' rid in de ole coach den," he said with a sigh, as he sucked at the long stem, and threw the taper at the chickens. "De ole coach hit uz th'owed away in de out'ouse, en I 'uz des stiddyin' 'bout splittin' it up fer kindlin' wood en de new car'ige hit cos' mos' a mint er money. Ole Miss she uz dat sot up dat she ain' let de hosses git no sleep nor me nurr.
Ef'n she spy out a speck er dus' on dem ar wheels, somebody gwine year f'om it, sho's you bo'n en dat somebody wuz me. Yes, Lawd, Ole Miss she 'low dat dey ain' never been nuttin' like dat ar car'ige in Varginny sence befo' de flood." "But where is it, Big Abel?" "You des wait, young Marster, you des wait twel I git dar.
"W'en we git yer 'bout'n dinner time, dar wuz Ole Miss at de do' wid de sun in her eyes, en soon es she ketch sight er Ole Marster, she put up her han' en holler out, 'Marse Lightfoot, whar de car'ige? But Ole Marster, he des hang down his haid, same es a dawg dat's done been whupped fur rabbit runnin', en he sob, 'Hit's gone, Molly en de bag er gol' en de hosses, dey's gone, too, I done loss 'em all cep'n Abel en I'm a bad man, Molly. Dat's w'at Ole Marster say, 'I'm a bad man, Molly, en I stiddy 'bout my hosses en Ole Miss' car'ige en shet my mouf right tight,"
I look at 'im fur a minute, en den I let right out, 'Ole Marster, whar de gol'? en he stan' still en ketch his breff befo' he say, 'Hit's all gone, Abel, en de car'ige en de hosses dey's gone, too." En w'en I bust out cryin' en ax 'im, 'My hosses gone, Ole Marster? he kinder sob en beckon me fer ter git down f'om my box, en den we put out ter walk all de way home.
"'Twan' mo'n twenty years back dat Ole Miss had de fines' car'ige in de county," he began one evening on the doorstep, and the boy drove away a brood of half-fledged chickens and settled himself to listen. "Hadn't you better light your pipe, Big Abel?" he inquired courteously. Big Abel shuffled into the cabin and came back with his corncob pipe and a lighted taper.
I'se gwine git dar w'en I come ter de day me an Ole Marster rid in ter git his gol' f'om Mars Tom Braxton. De car'ige hit sutney did look spick en span dat day, en I done shine up my hosses twel you could 'mos' see yo' face in dey sides. Lawd! Lawd! "'I ain' tied, Plaintain, I'm tired, sez Ole Marster, 'I'm tired losin' money. Den Marse Plaintain he laugh like a devil.
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