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"Now, Jack, you're gwinter have the laugh on me, for the old mood is on me an' I'm yearnin' to do this jes' like you yearn to hold up the bank ag'in. It's the old instinct gettin' to wurk. But, Jack, you see this mine ain't so bad. God sometimes provides in an onexpected way." "What is it?" asked Jack. The old man chuckled again.
Old Uncle Ben, the Catherwoods' coachman, came out of the stable yard. The whites of his eyes were rolling, half in amusement, half in terror. Seeing Stephen standing there, he exclaimed: "Mistah Brice, if de Dutch take Camp Jackson, is we niggers gwinter be free?" Stephen did not answer, for the piano had started again, "If ever I consent to be married, And who could refuse a good mate?
Old Uncle Ben, the Catherwoods' coachman, came out of the stable yard. The whites of his eyes were rolling, half in amusement, half in terror. Seeing Stephen standing there, he exclaimed: "Mistah Brice, if de Dutch take Camp Jackson, is we niggers gwinter be free?" Stephen did not answer, for the piano had started again, "If ever I consent to be married, And who could refuse a good mate?
I can't take you home to-day I'm gwinter take Margaret, an' you an' Jimmie can come along together." No other man could have taken Margaret Adams home and had any standing left, in Cottontown. And soon they were jogging along down the mountain side, toward the cabin where the woman lived and supported herself and boy by her needle.
Old Uncle Ben, the Catherwoods' coachman, came out of the stable yard. The whites of his eyes were rolling, half in amusement, half in terror. Seeing Stephen standing there, he exclaimed: "Mistah Brice, if de Dutch take Camp Jackson, is we niggers gwinter be free?" Stephen did not answer, for the piano had started again, "If ever I consent to be married, And who could refuse a good mate?
"I'se tell you what, Jinny," he answered mischievously, with an emphasis on the word, "I'se call you Miss Jinny ef you'll call me Mistah Johnson. Mistah Johnson. You aint gwinter forget? Mistah Johnson." "I'll remember," she said. "Ned," she demanded suddenly, "would you like to be free?" The negro started. "Why you ax me dat, Jinny?" "Mr. Benbow's Hester is free," she said. "Who done freed her?"
"Pull off yo' coat, Archie B.," said the Deacon, "I'm gwinter lick you fur gamblin'." "Pull off yo' coat, Archie B.," said his mother, "I'm goin' to lick you fur playin' hookey." "Pull it off, Archie B.," said his sister bossily, "I'm goin' to stan' by an' see." Archie B. pulled off his coat deliberately.
At the table the men ate saying little, while the old woman and her daughters served them, and in silence. His youngest boy, Caleb, came with him, an immodest little fellow; made so by his father, who it seemed spent most of his time boasting of the boy's accomplishments. "Well, rested yet? Thar's a boy what's gwinter make a lawyer. He's just turned nine and you can't believe nothin' he says.
Nevertheless, he failed to rebuke the ill-timed mirth of the child, appearing to be altogether engrossed in his work. After a while, he resumed: "Yasser. Fokes dunner w'at bin yit, let 'lone w'at gwinter be. Niggers is niggers now, but de time wuz w'en we 'uz all niggers tergedder." "When was that, Uncle Remus?" "Way back yander.
"Boss, it's gwinter to be a hoss race from wire to wire!" "Oh, pshaw! one heat of fun they'll shut him out!" In heart, the sympathy of the crowd was all with the old preacher. The old man had a habit when keyed to high pitch, emotionally, of talking to himself.
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