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"W'en Tenie see so many things happenin' ter de tree, she 'eluded she 'd ha' ter turn Sandy ter sump'n e'se; en atter studyin' de matter ober, en talkin' wid Sandy one ebenin', she made up her mine fer ter fix up a goopher mixtry w'at would turn herse'f en Sandy ter foxes, er sump'n, so dey could run away en go some'rs whar dey could be free en lib lack w'ite folks.
"He's a gwineter fix hit up so dat dere won't be so much worriment 'mong de w'ite fokes 'bout de kinder wedder w'at falls to dere lot." "He gwine dish em up," suggested one of the older ones, "like man dish out sugar. "No," answered Uncle Remus, mopping his benign features with a very large and very red bandana. "He's a gwineter fix um better'n dat.
He did n' mix' wid ner talk much ter de res' er de niggers, en could n' 'pear ter git it th'oo his min' dat he wuz a slabe en had ter wuk en min' de w'ite folks, spite er de fac' dat Ole Nick gun 'im a lesson eve'y day. En fin'lly Mars Johnson 'lowed dat he could n' do nuffin wid 'im; dat ef he wuz his nigger, he 'd break his sperrit er break 'is neck, one er de yuther.
He shot a startled glance up into the black void above and then burying his face in his arms began to sob like a child. "What's wrong, man?" demanded Bradley. "Buck up! Can't play cry-baby. Waste of energy. What happened?" "Wot 'appened, sir!" wailed Tippet. "Oh, Gord, sir! Hit came back. Hit came for me, sir. Right hit did, sir; strite hat me, sir; hand with long w'ite 'ands it clawed for me.
As they emerged upon the sidewalk the younger one flashed a glance at the men opposite, and Kirk saw that she was a mulatto evidently a housemaid. His eager eyes flew back to the entrance. Allan hissed at him: "Yonder goes! Quick, or you will be losing she." "Where?" "There! The young female in w'ite. It is h'indeed the Senorita Torres."
En I has ter be kinder keerful 'bout cunj'in' w'ite folks; so be sho' en lemme know, w'ateber you do, des w'at is gwine on roun' de plantation. "So Solomon say all right, en tuk de goopher mixtry up ter de big house en gun it ter de cook, en tol' her fer ter put it in Mars Jeems's soup de fus' cloudy day she hab okra soup fer dinnah.
"Solomon did n' knowed de w'ite man at fus', 'tel de w'ite man spoke up ter 'im. "'Is dat you, Solomon? sezee. "Den Solomon reco'nized de voice. "'Fer de Lawd's sake, Mars Jeems! is dat you? "'Yas, Solomon, sez his marster, 'dis is me, er w'at's lef er me.
"De w'ite folks don' want too good an opinion er de niggers, ef dey had a good opinion of 'em, dey wouldn' have no excuse f er 'busin' an' hangin' an' burnin' 'em. But ef dey can't keep from doin' it, let 'em git de right man! Dis way er pickin' up de fus' nigger dey comes across, an' stringin' 'im up rega'dliss, ought ter be stop', an' stop' right now!"
Co'se de darkies did n' lack de way Mars Jeems used 'em, but he wuz de marster, en had a right ter do ez he please'; but dis yer Ole Nick wa'n't nuffin but a po' buckrah, en all de niggers 'spised 'im ez much ez dey hated 'im, fer he did n' own nobody, en wa'n't no bettah 'n a nigger, fer in dem days any 'spectable pusson would ruther be a nigger dan a po' w'ite man.
The hymn, too, is no longer selected from the prayer-book, but from some unwritten collection better adapted to their ideas of "heart-religion": De angel cry out A-men, A-men! A-men! De angel cry out A-men! I'se bound to de promis' lan'! I da gwine up to hebbin in a long w'ite robe, Long w'ite robe! long w'ite robe! My Sabiour tell me wear dat robe W'en I meet him in de promis' lan'!
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