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"What ye t'inkin' ob, Hagar, to tell him dat? Dar's all poor Mas'r Noll's books an' t'ings lyin' 'bout eberywhar, an' how ken de poor chile stan' it? De Lord's han' is heaby upon him, an', O good Lord Jesus, jes' come an' bress de poor chile an' sabe him!" He found it at last, the peace which comes after a long, weary, despairing struggle. But it was not easily won.
He neber did no wrong; he allers 'bey'd his massa, and he neber said no hard word, nor found no fault, not eben w'en de cruel, bad oberseer put de load so heaby on him dat it kill him. Yes, my bredderin and sisters, he hab gone to de Lord; gone whar dey don't work in de swamps; whar de little chil'ren don't tote de big shingles fru de water up to dar knees.
The negro, who, although comparatively short of stature, was Herculean in build, looked at the youth with an amused expression. "You're bery good, sar, but dat's not what I's t'inkin' ob. I's t'inkin' whedder I dar' ventur' to introdoce you to my massa. He's not fond o' company, an' it might make 'im angry, but he came by a heaby loss lately an' p'raps he may cond'send to receibe you.
Den de man 'gan ter beg fer mercy, an' tole his name. It was one of Cap'n Lane's own sogers. At dis moment Missy Roberta rush outen her room, cryin', 'Help! murder! Den we heared heaby steps rushing up de starway, an' tree ob Cap'n Lane's sogers dash for'ard.
"We must take it home, Pomp," I said. "No," he said, with a look of disgust. "Um quite dead now. Frow um into de ribber." "Oh no! I want my father to see it, and Morgan." "We go an' fess um den." "No, no. You must carry it home." "No, too heaby, Mass' George, and um begin to 'tink."
"She's middlin' po'ly, same's ever; got great rings under her eyes and her heart's dat heaby makes abody cry ter look at 'er. But she ain't sick, jes' griebin' herse'f to death. Ain't yer gwineter stop and see 'er? May be I kin git ye in de back way." "Not now not here. Bring her to Uncle George's house to-morrow about noon, and I will be there.
But afore I could say one word, the trader, wid a dreadful curse, seize her by de throat, and in his hurry to get her away, stumbled ober one ob de young uns wid his great heaby boots, dat was made 'spressly to kick de fractious niggars, as he called it, and de chile neber breathe again! he had step clean on to its neck, strangling it in an instant!
I's bin kotched by rubbers an' rescued by Gauchos, an' stole by Injins, an' I's runned away an' found myself here, an' dey's bin good to me here, but dey don't seem to want me much so I's kite free but I's awrful heaby!" "What's dat got to do wid it?" inquired the lover, tying a knot of perplexity on his eyebrows.
Rogue he got one heaby spear right through. Sore fella. That spear fight em inside. My word! Carn pull em out. He no die. Too much sore fella!" Since the foregoing was penned Tom has realised the supreme fact of existence. He is dead, and is buried in dry, hot ground away from the moist green country which he knew so well, and was wont to love so ardently.
The negro, who, although comparatively short of stature, was herculean in build, looked at the youth with an amused expression. "You're bery good, sar, but da's not what I's t'inkin' ob. I's t'inkin' whedder I dar' ventur' to introdoce you to my massa. He's not fond o' company, an' it might make 'im angry, but he came by a heaby loss lately an' p'raps he may cond'send to receibe you.
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