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I knows de good Lawd done fergib me, en I hope ter meet you bofe in glory. I sees de good angels waitin' fer me up yander, wid a long w'ite robe en a starry crown, en I'm on my way ter jine 'em. En so de cunjuh man died, en Pete en Primus went back ter de plantation. "De darkies all made a great 'miration w'en Primus come back.
I don't spec' w'ite folkses to wait on me han' an' foot disher way naw'm!" "You're going to be treated just like one of the family, Uncle Rufus," cheerfully cried Ruth, who had likewise climbed the stairs to see him. But somebody must do the chores. The back porch was mainly cleared; but a great drift had heaped up before it higher than Ruth's head.
You were n't content with being a slave to the white folks once, but you must try it again. Some people never know when they 've got enough. I don't see that there 's any help for you; unless," he added suggestively, "you had a good deal of money." "Pears ter me I heared somebody say sence I be'n up heah, dat it wuz 'gin de law fer w'ite folks an' colored folks ter marry."
"Chloe," Julius began in a subdued tone, "use' ter b'long ter ole Mars' Dugal' McAdoo my ole marster. She wuz a ladly gal en a smart gal, en ole mis' tuk her up ter de big house, en l'arnt her ter wait on de w'ite folks, 'tel bimeby she come ter be mis's own maid, en 'peared ter 'low she run de house herse'f, ter heah her talk erbout it.
De w'ite folks say no, dey ain' be'n no wolves 'roun' dere fer ten yeahs er mo'; en dey did n' know w'at ter make out'n it. En w'en dey could n' fin' Dan nowhar, dey 'lowed he'd quo'lled wid Mahaly en killt her, en run erway; en dey did n' know w'at ter make er dat, fer Dan en Mahaly wuz de mos' lovin' couple on de plantation.
A soapbox on a plank between two pairs of wheels being produced and the box made comfortable with a quilt and a pillow belonging to Mammy June, Mun Bun was laid, still fast asleep, in this vehicle, and Russ started to drag his little brother home. "Yo' 'Lias!" exclaimed Mammy June, from the doorway of her cabin, "whar's yo' manners? Don't you let that w'ite visitor boy drag that boxwagon.
You k'n go roun' yer an' sass deze w'ite people, an' maybe dey'll stan' it, but w'en you come a-slingin' yo' jaw at a man w'at wuz gray w'en de fahmin' days gin out, you better go an' git yo' hide greased." "What's the matter, old man?" asked a sympathizing policeman. "Nothin', boss, 'ceppin I ain't gwineter hav' no nigger chillun a hoopin' an' a hollerin' at me w'en I'm gwine long de streets."
She's the messenger of a great King, and spends her whole time a-blessin' folks. Her hair shines with the gold o' the sun; her eyes send out soft beams; her gown is w'ite, and when she moves 'tis as if forget-me-nots and violets was runnin' in little streams among its folds. Ah, chillen," the apple woman shook her head, "she's the blessin' o' the world.
Hit'll do him good, too, ef he heed me, I lay to dat. Mebbe he ain't been raised de way we is down yere. Ef so, dat's his misfortune." The voice changed. "Whut would yore pore daid mother say ef she knowed I wuz neglectin' my plain duty to you two lone chillen? Think I gwine run ary chancet of havin' you two gals talked about by all de low-down pore w'ite trash scandalisers in dis town?
Den maybe men come down from mountain, or maybe men come in boat, and dey say, 'Who's all you people? Who you b'long to? Den dey say dey don' b'long nobody but demselves. Den, mos' like, de w'ite ones gets killed for dey clothes and dey money. And Cheditafa and me we gets tuck somew'ere to be slaves.
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