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Our folks never said nothin' 'cause dey was very well satisfied lak dey was. We never hear of no whuppin's, or runaways either, 'til afte' de War an' when we got older. "I 'member de War tho'. Marse Tom, he went fust, wid de Van Dorns. He was made a capt'in or somethin' 'cause he was so brave. He fought long wid de fust an' was one of de fust to get hit.
Toad. I's too wordless to sing 'em now, but dey was funny. Us danced plenty, too. Some o' de men clogged an' pidgeoned, but when us had dances dey was real cotillions, lak de white folks had. Dey was always a fiddler an', on Chris'mus an' other holidays, de slaves was' lowed to' vite dey sweethearts from other plantations.
"Bimeby she come," he said, in his low, even tones, while his black, luminous eyes were definitely raised to the white man's face. "Oh, yes. Bimeby she come. An' boss then him laff lak hell. Julyman know. Julyman have much squaw. Plenty." Steve started. For a moment he stared. Then his easy smile crept into his steady eyes again and he nodded. "Sure," he said. "Bimeby she come.
'Poleon eyed him shrewdly. "Wal, tak' you. You're scare', ain't you? But you sooner die so long she don't know it. Plenty oder feller jus' lak' dat." He walked to the nearest skiff, removed his coat, and began to untie his boots. Lucky Broad joined the pilot, then looked on uneasily at these preparations. "What's the idea?" he inquired. "Are you too hot?" 'Poleon grinned at him and nodded.
But when dat new man comes I want mammy's lamb to look at him an' hol' huh haid lak' huh ma used to hol' hern, an' I reckon Mistah No'thcope gwine to withah away."
"He'd lost his wind before he got here." "He ain't lost his nerve," said a negro porter, craning his neck in lively interest. "He's lettin' hisself go lak a Derby-winner on de home stretch!" "Has he give up?" asked the gate-keeper, turning aside to stamp a ticket. "Not him. He's bound to ketch dat train ef it busts a hamstring. He's done got holt de rear platform! He's pullin' hisself up! There!
"It wouldn't be sporty not to give him a start, Uncle Zack," came still another voice, this time from the shrubbery where Brent, returning from a dabble at his work, had halted in the keenest amusement. "Well, 'pon mah word," the old fellow scratched his head. "It looks lak I'se booked to race de whole fam'ly. Marse John, how much you reckon I'd ought to give 'im?
Ef my eye ain't 'ceive me, dish yer's Brer Rabbit, en Brer Tarrypin, en ole Unk' Tommy Mud-Turkle, sez Brer B'ar, sezee. "'De same, sez Brer Rabbit, sezee, 'en yer we is 'joyin' de day dat passes des lak dey wa'n't no hard times. "'Well, well, well! sez ole Brer B'ar, sezee, 'a-slippin' en a-slidin' en makin' free! En w'at de matter wid Brer Rabbit dat he ain't j'inin' in? sezee.
I am all day cleaning myself after." "You're a wonder!" he cried. "Travelling about alone and all. Are all the girls up here like you?" "No," replied Bela quaintly. "There is nobody lak me. I am Bela." "Where do you live?" She looked at him again through her lashes. "Maybe I tell you when I know you better." "Tell me now," he pleaded. She shook her head. Sam frowned.
And I'se powerful sorry I ain't able ter be in de big house ter see dat yer git ebry thing ter make yer happy, sah. Dese here young niggers lak Sam do pooty well. But dey ain't got much sense, sah. And dey ain't got no unction'tall. Dey do de best dey kin an' dat ain't much." "Oh, I'm having a fine time, Uncle Ben," Phil assured him. "Praise de Lord, sah."
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