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"Dey's into de lot!" he exclaimed, when he came to the bars. "Dar's Pete Corry's ole straw hat lyin' by de stone-heap. Mus' hab been somefin' won'erful, or he'd nebber forgot his hat." That was an old woodchuck, of course, or he would not have been so large, and it may be he knew those boys as well as Quib did.
"Don't your preachers do that?" asked Robert. "Well, some ob dem does, an' some ob dem doesn't. An' wen dey preaches, I want dem to practice wat dey preach. Some ob dem says dey's called, but I jis' thinks laziness called some ob dem. An' I thinks since freedom come deres some mighty pore sticks set up for preachers. Now dere's John Anderson, Tom's brudder; you 'member Tom."
Kaviak drew a breath with a catch in it, looked round, and began as firmly as ever: "Weh! eh! eh!" "Sh sh!" The Boy clapped his hands, and lugubriously intoned: "'Dey's de badger and de bah, En de funny lil hah, En de active lil flea, En de lil armadillah Dat sleeps widouter pillah, An dey all gottah mate but me ee ee! "Farva!" Kaviak gasped. "Say, do a nigger breakdown," solicited Potts.
"Mam' Henry," said Aunt Sophy, impressively, "you's a' oldah ooman den I is, an' I ain' sputin' hit; but I say dey done 'filled Scripter 'bout de mo'nin' stahs; dey's done sung deyse'ves togeddah." The old woman sniffed. The next Sunday at meeting some one got the start of Gideon, and began a new hymn. It ran: "At de ma'ige of de Lamb, oh Lawd, God done gin His 'sent.
She wuz on de clo'sline yistiddy, but she done gone: she ain' dah no mo' now." "I reckon the world IS coming to an end. I NEVER see the beat of it in all my born days. A shirt, and a sheet, and a spoon, and six can " "Missus," comes a young yaller wench, "dey's a brass cannelstick miss'n." "Cler out from here, you hussy, er I'll take a skillet to ye!" Well, she was just a-biling.
"En Ole Marster en Ole Miss dey's in de house er de overseer dey's right over dar behine de orchard whar you use ter projick wid de ploughs, en Brer Cupid and Sis Rhody dey's a-gittin' dem dey supper." "Then let me go," cried Dan.
He went to the fields at an early hour, as he always did, to set his negroes at work, and was met by the hostler, who had an exciting piece of news to communicate. "Misser Gordon," said he, "Misser Don's hound dogs done treed two fellers down dar in de quarter. Dey's been dar all de blessed night top o' dat ar house; yes, sar, dat's what dey says, sar!"
"Dat Leon, he don't know de fust ting 'bout a boat, no more dan a cat!" Benjamin came to anchor close in, but Braithwaite and Leon kept on until they were further out than any other boat. "Reckon dey's after cod," suggested Xavier. The mackerel bit well, but Benjamin kept a close watch on the sky. Suddenly he saw a dark streak advancing over the water from the northwest. He wheeled around.
A Christian, he ca's himsel', too, though 'tis of a by ordinar' fashion, such as Deacon Shortcoats would scarce own. I coft him dog cheap at Tunis, when his master, the Vizier, had had his tongue cut out for but knowing o' some deed that suld ne'er have been done and his puir feet bastinadoed to a jelly. Gin a' the siller in the Dey's treasury ransomed ye, what gude would it do ye after that?
"Yes, but pigs is pigs, you know," I answered, laughing. I was about to walk on, but once more Cookie intervened. "Dey's pigs and pigs, chile live ones and dead ones. "Dead ones? Of course haven't we been eating them?" "Yo' won't neveh eat dis yere kind o' dead pig, Miss Jinny. It's it's a ha'nt!" The murder was out. Cookie leaned against a cocoa-palm and wiped his ebon brow.
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